


More Machine Than Man

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Body Horror Recovery, Definite: Mildly Graphic Love Scenes Later, Extreme hurt/comfort, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hopeful In Spite of Hell, Non-Pacifistic Satine, PTSD With Nonstandard Treatment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2018-11-06 01:39:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 47,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11025912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Trying to recover from severe emotional and physical trauma that has left a large percentage of his body made of metal, Obi-Wan Kenobi has to decide who he wants to be now. While also cut off from the Force and without almost everything he's ever known.The gratuitous violence is confined to the first chapter, and warnings applying only to that first chapter are now in the author notes for it. The story will make sense if you skip that first chapter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story used to be just this chapter. The tags reflected that. However, now that the story has grown into something far more than just that little foray into violence, I needed to adjust the tags to better reflect the story.
> 
> Please take the following warnings seriously, and if you think any of this may make your day worse but you still want to read this story, please skip this first chapter and continue on with chapter 2. I promise it will make sense, especially since reading the tags will explain (sans blood) what they did to him.
> 
> Beyond the tags, all you need to know is this: In this AU Satine is not a pacifist, though she did succeed in uniting Mandalore twenty-ish years earlier. The new civil war is not being waged by Death Watch, but is far more widespread and much better organized. Obi-Wan and Anakin were officially sent to assess the situation and assist Satine, but Obi-Wan ended up separated from the others, lured into an ambush at an abandoned farmhouse, and incapacitated.
> 
> Then the rest of this happened:
> 
> Severe mutilation, graphic torture, breaking bones, flogging (not sexual), electrocution, severe burns, burning alive, drowning, nonlethal blaster wounding as torture (have to give it to Karen Traviss, she invented that one), lightsaber as a torture device, dismemberment, eye gouging, inflicted blindness, wound poisoning, nonconsensual emasculation, weapons forced into mouth and turned on, tongue mutilation, lung mutilation, medical amputation, anesthesia not working, nonfunctional pain killers, limb and organ replacement, surgeons operating to save a life, stun blast as an anesthesia replacement, body horror.
> 
> If you think reading that will make your day better, go ahead and read chapter 1. If my tags bother you, I can promise you chapter 1 will be much worse, so just start with chapter 2. While I cannot promise you that these things will not be referenced in later chapters— perhaps painfully so— they will certainly not be given as much detail as when he is experiencing them.
> 
> The first two chapters of this were written long ago, one of my first ever fan fictions. Kudos to you if you can feel the difference in the writing style.

 

 

_“What have we here?”_

_“Looks like a little jetii has lost his way.”_

_And so it began._

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan awoke to savage pain.

An armored boot slammed into his gut and he instinctively retched.

That meant this wasn't the first time he’d been kicked.

Struggling to make sense of it, of anything, he rolled onto his side.

A boot to the head, this time.

He yanked his arms up to protect it.

It ended with one of those arms broken in several places.

The beating seemed endless, and as bones snapped and joints gave way, Obi-Wan couldn’t collect himself enough to provide any sort of counterattack.

He knew they were Mandalorians. A lot of them.

He didn’t know how many.

He did know one of them had his lightsaber.

Another apparently had a took-o’nine-tails too.

That came out after his assailants grew bored of creating bruises and crunching bones.

Thrown down on his stomach, his weight grinding the bits of shrapnel deeper into flesh, he felt the first blow fall.

Rawhide with sharp edges.

That would have been harsh enough.

But this one’s end was split into many squarish cords, each one ending in something horrifically sharp.

Whether bone, or shards of beskar, Obi-Wan couldn’t tell.

What he _could_ tell was each blow cut his back to the bone.

He fought to rise, but was kicked down, and struck with the hilt of the whip in the face.

When he tried again, someone shocked him.

Writhing in the grip of blue electricity, he felt the next stroke come down.

Blood drenched his back, slipped into the hard ground.

Jedi blood, seeding Mandalore’s soil once more.

After an eternity, they kicked him onto his back, driving the torn flesh into the dirt and foliage, and dragged the whip across his chest, his gut.

They didn’t kill him.

They pulled back from that.

Lying there, his body weak and broken, Obi-Wan heard a vocoded voice saying something about death by blood-loss... cauterization...

It took his brain three full seconds before it realized he was on fire.

 _Actual_ fire.

He hadn’t thought he could move.

He’d been wrong.

The fire took hold of his pants, his tunic, his hair.

Wreathed in flame, he tried to put it out against the ground, tried to roll—

And then he was no longer on the ground.

He fought to reach it again, but instead, he found himself being dumped face-first into water.

Halfway in he remembered to save his breath.

Steam boiled around him.

The water may have put out the fire, but its touch seemed to burn his bubbled and melted skin— all that the whip had left.

And then he was out of air.

He tried to push against the hands holding him under, tried to pull himself free, tried to call on the Force—

His lungs burned far worse than his skin, and his thrashing increased.

Somehow he could hear laughter.

That was probably through the Force.

Just as his lungs were pushed beyond the point of endurance, he was hauled out of the water and dropped on the ground again.

And that was when he knew why there had been water in the first place.

It was the farm’s watering trough for the livestock. _Farm? Where am I?_

He couldn’t remember.

He scrambled backwards, away as best as he could, but found himself caught by gauntleted hands again.

“Dry him out,” came the suggestion.

It didn't take long before blaster bolts were cutting the flesh from his legs.

And once they tired of that— about the same time they ran out of calves and thighs— his lightsaber came out.

They ran it along the bone, just gently tracing it along the flesh. Burning, burning, burning...

Someone flicked it across his ankle, and in that instant Obi-Wan was left with only one foot.

He choked on his pain.

And then he lost the other foot.

Gently brushing the blade against his gut, letting its heat burn deep, but without any actual cuts...

And then stabbing it down between his legs.

The Mandos seemed to think that hilarious.

Obi-Wan’s mind struggled to cope as excruciating became something worse.

One hand... and then the next was gone.

Someone was rubbing something into the stumps of his limbs, but the saber was carving down the side of his face, taking nothing but hair and skin...

And then his ear.

And then its point was deftly inserted into his left eye.

Not far enough to reach his brain.

No.

Of course not that far.

His scream seemed to please them. A comment was made about the Negotiator’s silver tongue, so they forced his jaws open and slipped the saber in.

Teeth melted against its beam, his tongue sizzled.

Pulling it away again they took quite a bit of jaw with it.

“No, wait,” a voice suggested. “Here.”

The top of a gauntlet was shoved into his mouth.

And then they turned on the flamethrower.

Obi-Wan struck against his captors with handless arms, but the flame consumed what was left of his tongue and roared down his throat into his lungs.

And then it was pulled away.

A heavy boot kicked him to the ground again.

He couldn't breathe. He didn't _want_ to breathe. The air against his seared lungs was almost enough to shadow out his missing appendages and eye.

But not quite.

Shock, please, shock—

But it wouldn’t come.

Probably had something to do with whatever they’d rubbed into his wounds.

 

* * *

 

Satine went straight for Obi-Wan while Anakin let loose on the Mandos.

Cutting out her jetpack to land directly beside her love, Satine shot one enemy in the head and sent flame roaring across the faceplate of a second.

He reeled away as she knelt beside Obi-Wan.

She couldn’t even begin to assess his injuries.

The enemy’d had quite a bit of time to amuse themselves, and they’d been as creative as always.

She reached for him to raise him from the ground, but he flailed, his one remaining eye red-rimmed and his throat gurgling his pain, far too gone for a scream. He attempted to strike her with his handless arms.

“Udesi,” she barked. “It’s me. Satine.”

The Mandos were retreating before Anakin’s brutal onslaught, and soon he came to her side. His breath hissed in as he saw his former Master's condition.

“You drive the speeder,” she directed. “You fly better than I do.”

Satine raised her love in her arms and deposited him on the back seat of the speeder they’d brought.

Anakin leaped into the driver’s seat and gunned it.

Satine yanked off her buy’ce, dropping it to the floor.

Obi-Wan’s blood, covering her hands, stained it, stained her beskar’gam.

Rapidly stained the speeder’s seat.

“How is he?” Anakin’s terse voice called back.

“Drive faster.”

The acceleration nearly knocked Satine over.

Obi-Wan’s right wrist was beginning to bleed, his struggles having overcome the cauterization effects of the lightsaber.

Satine tied off the bleeding, and as she did so, she noted the purple seeping through the burned muscle.

So they’d poisoned him too.

They wouldn’t be saving his arm.

They’d be lucky to save his life.

 

* * *

 

The first thing the medics did as they set Obi-Wan down on an operating table was to inject him with painkillers that could numb a bantha.

And then they set to analyzing.

Standing on the other side of the glass, Satine stood frozen, watching, while Anakin paced.

A surgeon came out, looking grim.

His words confirmed what Satine already knew.

Poison.

And vast areas of burn— _within_ Obi-Wan’s body, not just without.

To stop the poison they were going to have to take the arms at the shoulders, the right, a bit deeper.

And the legs at the hips.

He wouldn’t survive long enough to grow new tissue for his lungs, his heart, other organs—

Yes.

Skin, in certain places.

His body was too contaminated, too infiltrated. Even the most sterile of healing facilities wouldn’t protect him quickly enough.

There simply wasn’t time.

The doctor wanted to know what Anakin wanted to do.

And Anakin told him to save Obi-Wan’s life.

No matter what he had to do.

As they cut away poisoned flesh and bone, as they cut him open to reconstruct his innards and unpoisoned bone, Obi-Wan let loose another agonized cry.

They injected him again.

It kept him quiet and down for ten minutes.

And then he screamed again.

It ended with Satine going in there and delivering a stun blast straight to his temple.

All his life support systems were being sustained outside his body at that moment anyway.

The techs were more grateful that their patient no longer felt their invasive knives than horrified at her unconventional method.

   
 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Obi-Wan awoke slowly.

He was sore. Unspeakably sore all over, and all within.

Opening his eyes, he found Anakin leaning over him.

Something—

Something didn't seem—

The image coming from his left eye— looked— _different—_

He jerked his hand up to reach for the baffling eye, but his hand didn’t obey.

He discovered he was restrained, bound to a bed.

“Anakin?”

“You've been hurt,” Anakin soothed. “But you’re out of danger now.”

“My eye—”

“It’s cybernetic, like Tholme’s or Wolffe’s,” Anakin explained. “You were unable to communicate, and the decision had to be made. I’m sorry if you wanted to be the next Evan Piell, but I thought it would be better, given the war, for you to have as much use of your body as possible.”

“Why am I tied down?” Obi-Wan rasped.

It was hard to talk, and his voice sounded odd in his ears.

Probably from the screaming.

If not from the fire or water.

“They were concerned you might jolt awake, be disoriented, and move too violently. They didn't want you reinjuring yourself.”

There was something in his friend’s face...

Obi-Wan stretched out to the Force to try to read what was behind that closed look.

And found nothing.

Not a barrier, like the mask Ventress had inflicted on him.

And not a derth of the light side, like on Zigoola.

He wasn’t being kept from the Force. And the dark side wasn’t smothering him.

He couldn't touch it.

He was utterly—

Terror gripped his mind as he fought to feel something, _anything—_

He could sense no stifling presence like the mask possessed, and he couldn’t sense the dark side either.

And unlike the mask, it didn’t matter if he tried to reach out to the dark or not.

It wouldn’t have come.

Anakin winced, and guilt flooded his eyes.

It didn’t take the Force to see it. “What have you done to me?” Obi-Wan demanded, fighting against the restraints.

It was no use.

His mind and soul screamed against the anguish.

“I'm sorry,” Anakin choked. “It couldn't be helped. You lost a lot of blood, Obi-Wan. They had to replace it. It was do or die—”

“Then you should have let me die!” His anguish lent volume to his voice, but somehow he didn’t sound angry. The horror, loss, and agony were too destroying for that.

He sounded broken. Devastated.

He fought again, this time craning his head up. It couldn’t relieve the utter agony.

And he caught sight of his hand.

Horror flooded him anew.

He raised stricken eyes to Anakin’s face.

The boy looked broken. He could feel everything his Master was experiencing. “Please, Master, take it slow. It’s—”

“ _Get out_!” Obi-Wan shrieked at him.

His mind was unraveling. Insanity clawed at him.

“You shouldn’t be alone—”

“ _Get out!”_

No sooner had Anakin left, than Yoda entered.

“Please,” Obi-Wan whispered. “ _Please—_ ”

“Your condition, discussed the Council has.” Yoda stood near, eyeing him gravely. “And know, you should, that the Force, left you has not. You live. Bind you to the galaxy, it always will. But move it... touch it, you cannot. The midi-chlorians...

too thin, they are. Sorry, I am.”

Obi-Wan understood.

Oh, how horribly he understood.

“Perhaps we can get it back—”

Yoda’s eyes killed that false hope. “Refusing, they are. Ready to let you die, they were. Final, your condition is.”

Obi-Wan’s heart shivered, threatening to break into a million pieces to join his mind.

No.

This couldn't be happening—

So much infinitely worse than the Agricorps—

To be cut off from the Force...

For the _rest of his life_...

He had to— he had to _find_ something. Something to focus on. Something to keep from drowning. A mission. Duty. An assignment to throw himself into—

“I can— I can help with younglings. I can still be of use. I can help lead the clones still—”

“Obi-Wan, decided the Council is.”

Obi-Wan didn’t need the Force to see how badly this was going to go. “But I am _part_ of the Council—”

“No longer Force-sensitive, are you.”

The words were like a spear to the heart.

Obi-Wan’s throat closed and his eyes burned.

“No longer a Jedi, are you.”

“You’re going to kick me out?” Obi-Wan whispered, almost unable to speak audibly at all. “But Master—”

“Final, it is. Reconsidered, it will not be. A private citizen are you now, Obi-Wan. As you take your way, credits and clothes and contacts will you be given.”

“I don’t want credits and clothes and contacts,” Obi-Wan begged. “The Jedi are my family, my home, you’re all I _have_ —”

“Adapt, you will.”

“ _Master—_ ”

“Honored, your service with us is. Forget you, we will not. A punishment, this is not, Obi-Wan. A rest dearly deserved, think of this as.”

“ _Master_ —”

Yoda turned and walked for the door.

Leaving him.

 _Leaving_ him—

He cried out to the being who had watched over him as an infant.

Obi-Wan’s first memories of life were of Yoda.

And he was being abandoned.

Anakin had betrayed him to nothingness...

He was being cast out from his family...

And now Yoda, _Yoda_ , was leaving him to a living death.

 

* * * 

 

“I have to go to him—” Anakin said, pushing towards the door connecting the observation room to the one where Obi-Wan sobbed on the bed.

“No, Skywalker,” Yoda countered firmly. “Your friendship will he need in the days to come. Go in now, and fight the two of you will. That friendship, destroyed may be. Wait. When calm he is, _then_ go to him you may.”

Anakin started to protested, but Yoda shook his head. “ _No_! The Duchess, go to him will.”

Anakin fell silent.

She probably had more right than he did anyway.

After all, Satine and Obi-Wan were in love.

Yes. Satine could take care of him.

He would wait. For now.

But his heart was breaking for his friend.

His _father_.

 

* * *

 

“No longer a Jedi is he, and never will be again.”

The words, though spoken gently by Master Yoda, were like a knife to the heart for Satine.

_My poor, poor Obi._

“How feel you? Love him still? Want him to stay, still?”

“Yes.”

And there was no heat of the moment, or pain of the fear of loss here.

She had never stopped wanting him to stay with her.

Had never stopped loving him.

“Then go to him. Yes. Comfort him.”

Satine thought of how changed his body was.

Especially of the half-metal lips, metal teeth, metal tongue.

How inferior he might be feeling.

How... given his respect for nature and his deep reverence for life, being mostly dead metal might cause him to loathe himself. To hate what he’d become.

To look on this new version of his body as not _truly_ his own.

“How far may I go, Master Yoda?”

“As far as you are willing to; as far as he needs.”

There were no longer Jedi lines to not be crossed.

This wasn’t how Satine had wanted to have their relationship. She’d wanted to have him in her life, yes, but not at a price this high.

It felt wrong to step into that room relieved.

And yet she felt her heart thrum.

 _I_ _’_ _m coming, my love._

 

* * *

 

Footsteps told Obi-Wan someone had entered the room.

But he had no idea who.

And if he hadn’t heard them, he never would have known. He couldn’t sense, couldn’t _feel_ , all he could feel was _pain_ , not of body but of _mind_ and _soul_ —

Gentle lips pressed against the top of his head.

Satine.

It was Satine.

She was the only being in the galaxy who would kiss him.

And then he could see her.

Without looking at his face, she moved down the length of the bed.

At the foot she gently released one ankle from its restraints, then the other. Moving up, she unstrapped his left hand.

Walking quietly, smoothly, almost hypnotically, she walked around the foot of the bed again, where he could see her, her gaze fixed on his right hand.

Obi-Wan’s choked feeling of panic eased under the influence of her presence.

He couldn’t sense it.

But he could see it.

She released his right hand.

And then she leaned over him, placed her hand on his forehead, caressing up over the top of his head, and looked in his eyes.

Loving, gentle eyes gazed down into his.

No sign of pity.

No sign of fear, or disgust or compassion.

Just quiet.

Steady.

He stared back into her blue eyes. Felt his energy drain from him.

Felt only loss and grief and fear.

And it was safe to feel those around her.

She was the one person it was.

“How... how much of my face is gone?”

Her gaze didn’t move from his eyes. “Do you want me to bring you a mirror?”

But he couldn’t face that. “No,” he rasped. “I... just tell me.”

For a long moment more she simply stared love straight into his eyes. And then her gaze slowly, gently shifted to his face.

“Your left eye,” she said, her voice soft but without hesitation.

She wasn’t going to try to break it to him gently, no beating around the bush.

“Here.” She traced her finger down the middle of his chin, down his throat to where his tunic lay. “To here.” Her finger moved to the back of his neck and up to the top of his head. “Down.” Her finger came over the top of his head, around his false eye, and down to his nose.

And there she paused.

The area inside the perimeter she’d marked had been where they’d hacked his ear off.

_Half of my face, of my head, is metal._

It was a horrifying thought.

She gently stroked her finger down across his lips in the center. “This half.”

He remembered the lightsaber tearing away his jaw. Just pulling through it with no resistance, leaving agony in its wake.

The strange air currents against what teeth remained...

The memory was too vivid.

Too horrifying.

“Open your mouth.”

For a moment he couldn't bear to, and then he did.

Visions of silver teeth—

Satine leaned forward, her hand slipping to the side of his face.

_The metal side._

For a long moment she simply looked into his mouth, and then her eyes found his again. “Tongue, teeth, throat.”

Obi-Wan’s gut clenched.

“Your vocal cords had to be reconstructed as well.”

Her hand stroked over his head again.

No hair, of course.

It had been burned away.

Obi-Wan’s throat constricted.

 _No, it can_ _’_ _t possibly do that in response to emotion, so that_ _’_ _s just how it_ feels _._

That, too, was sickening.

“I’m a _machine_. It’s all metal—”

And that reminded him that his body consisted of more than his head and neck.

Memories flashed into existence in his mind, lost until this moment. Blasters, lightsabers, flame and blows—

He couldn’t hide the horror from his face, and his body began to shake.

He could _feel_ the pain again, could _hear_ the Mandos’ laughter.

He bolted to a sitting position, unable to bear lying any longer.

Lying down was vulnerable.

It was unprotected.

It was—

Satine seemed to have anticipated his sudden sensation of being trapped.

She was standing beside him, having slipped out of his way.

He refused to look down at himself. Keeping his chin up, his gaze focused on the wall.

He was going to go mad.

Hadn’t all of that been enough? Hadn’t that horror been sufficient?

To tear the Force from him, to compel him to live without it, without ever knowing its gentle touch again?

He couldn’t handle what had been done to him.

He wanted to slam his head into the wall to knock himself unconscious. Reality was a monster.

No.

 _He_ was the monster.

Satine sat beside him, gently placed her cool hand against his head, pulled it down to her lap.

Cradled it, her fingers running over his forehead with a slow monotony.

She was gentle. So gentle.

So warm.

So safe.

She soothed him without words, as if he were a terrified child.

And he let himself succumb to the illusion.

He’d never had a mother.

But in that moment, he wondered if this was what it might have been like to have one.

He closed his eyes against the burning tears and waited for them to fall.

They didn’t come.

In fact, when he considered it...

They weren’t in his eyes either.

His eyes burned from the emotion.

But there were no tears.

“I can't even cry anymore,” he choked.

Satine only stroked his head.

For a long moment he rested there, trying to understand his unspeakable pain.

And then he couldn’t.

He... he _had_ to know.

He rose, walked away from her.

The room was a lifeless white, with nothing but the bed occupying it, and only the one door to lead out. It was closed.

There was a smaller door leading to a cubbyhole of a refresher, the light of which was out.

He might be in a recovery room, but he was sure he never would recover.

He’d reached his end.

But he lived on.

He had to know just exactly how bad it was. He couldn’t live in dread anymore.

“Please tell me.”

He stood with his back to the door, his back to the bed, his back to her.

He peeled off his tunic, stepped out of his pants, without looking down.

He knew his hands had to be metal.

Like Anakin’s right.

He held his arms out low like they’d been bound at his sides on the bed, clad only in his beneathpants.

A rustle and soft footfall, and then Satine was before him. For a long moment she held his gaze, and then she assessed the situation.

He kept his chin up, but he was terrified.

She reached out, took his left hand.

“It’s fine if you don’t remember. They took your hands. They also poisoned the wounds. By the time we got you back to the doctors, it had spread through your arms. The doctors amputated them.”

She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it, as passionately as she ever had in the past.

Still holding the hand, she ran her fingers up his arm to his shoulder. “Here to here, to here.”

Obi-Wan felt her hand tracing more of his shoulder area than the word _arm_ should define.

Her hand dropped, pressed against his stomach.

“They reconstructed in here,” she murmured. “Some of it reached the surface. Some didn’t.”

She moved to his right arm.

Again, it invaded his shoulder.

Only deeper this time.

“There was little left of your lungs. They rebuilt them. And your trachea. And most of your heart.”

A small jolt passed through him as he heard it.

 _Even my heart_ _’_ _s not my own._

Sweet Force.

A Force which he would never touch again. The expletive caused its own ache of emptiness.

Satine’s hand, still on his right shoulder, rested there as she moved around him to the back.

“Skin here,” she said quietly, her hand sliding down his back to where it disappeared beneath the fabric. “Clear to here. I can’t see beyond that. There’s a mirror in the refresher. I can leave while you check below.”

The thought of being alone with his droid body terrified him.

The thought of _discovering_ his droid body alone...

That _petrified_ him.

“No,” he breathed, knowing his fear permeated his tone.

He was too broken for his pride to care.

“There— there shouldn’t _be_ anything there.” The memory burned through his skull. “They took my lightsaber and— but it feels like something is.”

And he couldn’t tell which was the hallucination.

Satine didn't move. Her hand was resting against his shoulder. Quiet. Steadying.

“If you leave, I wouldn’t look. I never would.”

It might have been embarrassing to be so traumatized by the brutality of his treatment at the hands of the Mandos. This new, fake body.

He supposed it probably was.

He was in too much mental pain to care.

“The fear is nothing to be ashamed of,” Satine said quietly.

And Obi-Wan sure as Kessel didn’t feel disrobing would be.

If it had been his own body, yes.

But this wasn’t his body.

Force, it was a _droid_ _’s_ body.

And he hated every millimeter of it.

But it was still a male’s body— unless his brain was utterly deceiving him, and it very well _might_ be, phantom pain was certainly possible— and Satine...

“Would it be demeaning, offensive to ask you to tell me? It wouldn’t— it wouldn't mean anything; your culture understands that, doesn’t—”

“Would you be comfortable with that?” was her gentle question. She didn’t sound shocked or disbelieving or disapproving. Just checking.

Bitterness flooded his mouth. “If anything is there, it’s because it’s been reconstructed. Who knows how many techs worked on it. And it isn’t me. But I don’t want to ask of you—”

“It certainly won’t damage or taint me,” Satine said quietly. “And yes. It means nothing.”

Relief.

It was an odd thing to feel now.

He should feel utterly uncomfortable.

But this wasn’t his body.

And he was afraid of it.

Satine wasn’t.

And Satine was safe. His body, his mind, were safe in her care. She respected him and knew his limits, and respected them too.

Hearing the worst from her somehow dulled the blows to his sanity, and he desperately needed that dulling.

He couldn’t take much more.

He lifted his ankle when she tapped on his calf so she could remove his boots.

He already knew his feet would be metal skeletons.

He remembered losing them.

The memory made every muscle— fake and real— down his back and arms clench, his breathing grow more harsh, his face— the half of it that _could_ , anyway— drain of color.

“Udesi,” Satine murmured. “They’re not here anymore. You’re safe. You’re here with me.”

If only that were true.

They were in his _mind_.

And he would never feel safe again.

“Udesi, Mando’ad,” she soothed. “Udesi, warrior-heart.”

If he’d been a Jedi, he’d have reached out to the Force for healing. For what was needed to cope with this leftover... _whatever_ this was.

Anakin would call it PTSD.

Anakin.

That clenched his gut again.

“Udesi,” Satine murmured as she removed his other boot and the sock over his fake foot. “You know about the feet. And the same is true of the legs as of the arms.”

She stood again.

He was shaking.

“Udesi. Wait a moment.” She placed her hand on the back of his neck. Pressed the side of her head against his temple.

She simply breathed.

And so did he.

Breathed...

Carefully. Pulling back from the hyperventilation that had threatened.

Trying to calm his sickened heartbeat.

Trying to accept that he had no tears.

Because they would have been falling now if they’d existed.

 _But I_ _’_ _m a droid. And droids don_ _’_ _t weep._

Force, that hurt.

Somehow that thought hurt deep. He didn’t cry often.

Almost never.

But when it happened, it was because of utter anguish of soul. It was a release. A way to seek relief. A way to allow the emotion to pass through him and away.

And now that pain was simply bottled within.

And could never be purged again.

“K’uur,” Satine murmured.

It was pathetic, really. Her people were used to PTSD. On a colossal scale. Almost all of them had it by his age. And many of them had head injuries that interfered with their intellect.

They even had a symbol such men wore on their helmets so others would know to help them.

But PTSD didn’t have a symbol. It was just _there_.

All the time.

And Satine knew how to handle it.

_She probably never expected a Jedi to need her help._

Again, probably an embarrassing thought.

And once he was no longer this miserable— if it was possible to escape this misery even temporarily, he might feel it.

“We can wait. There is no rush,” Satine soothed.

“No,” he quavered. Force. His voice was so strained. So... pathetic. “I have to know. Not knowing is worse.”

She unfastened the beneathpants with respectful fingers, then moved behind him again to pull them down.

 

* * *

 

Anakin looked away from the viewwindow.

He couldn’t believe his Master had disrobed like that.

Not just in front of Satine... but whoever might be behind the one-way transparisteel.

 _He doesn_ _’_ _t care._

It was a deeply terrifying thought.

Obi-Wan had always been very modest, even around his Padawan. More cautious of his body than even the average Jedi.

Perhaps that was because he was in love, and many other Jedi weren’t. To them, a body was simply a body.

Not an expression of their soul. Not a way of knowing another person, but something in the way of knowing another person.

 _He doesn_ _’_ _t feel this body is his_ , he realized. _He feels like he_ _’_ _s trapped inside a droid._

Yoda, with a deeply felt, “Hmm,” was making his way out of the observation area.

“Master... if he doesn't care about his dignity anymore, what else might he not care about?” It was a terrifying question to ask, but he had to get an answer.

He got another, “Hmm.” And then, “Safe, he is not. But if anyone guide him through this could, the Duchess it would be.”

“It could strain or break their relationship, if his original personality returns.”

Obi-Wan could easily cut her off out of embarrassment for what was happening right now.

“The case, I do not believe that to be.” Yoda glanced back at Anakin. “To the Duchess, a body is not intimate. Merely a weapon. Misunderstand him, she will not. Safe he is.”

As Yoda left, Anakin glanced back at the glass.

He couldn’t hear Satine’s words, but she was keeping her hands to herself.

He hoped Yoda was right.

Obi-Wan now had the chance to try to make a life with Satine.

Anakin didn’t want this initial daze and strange— for him— behavior to make any step in that direction awkward.

Turning, he followed Yoda out.

He would just have to trust Satine.

She’d already gotten Obi-Wan from frantic to calm.

She _had_ to keep him from going off all alone to who knows where, or becoming suicidal.

 _Had_ to.

Because Anakin was terrified he himself couldn’t.

 

* * *

 

“All up to here.” Satine gently touched his back just above the hip.

His rear had been completely reconstructed.

“And I know the front to be the same.” She placed her hand on his shoulder again. “Are you sure you want me to look?”

“Yes.” The tone was subdued, not frantic.

She stepped around in front of him, her gaze on his eyes. After a moment, she glanced down.

Considered.

Looked back into his eyes again.

Misery was staring out at her from those eyes, one blue, the other gray and white.

“Well, they reconstructed everything.”

That scrunched his face into a wounded animal’s, a demand for a reason for adding such insult to injury. “Why?”

She gave him a tiny smile. “Well, as for _that_ , it’s better than having a catheter and urine bag to tote around with you all the time. Which they actually used to do in ancient times. As for the _other_... Maybe they felt that gett’se of durasteel was something to brag about; much better than no gett’se at all.”

He just looked at her skeptically, and she broke into a full smile.

And then a slight chuff of laughter escaped her.

She didn’t want to spark shame into existence, but the situation _was_ amusing.

“They didn't skimp,” she offered.

And then a single laugh blew though his nose, followed by another. Then another.

Sure.

It might have been half-hysterical.

But it was laughter.

Satine laughed with him.

“Unless you want to see for yourself, let’s get those pants back on,” she suggested.

The look of terror that flashed into his eyes again answered _that_ one.

No. He didn’t want to see.

She pulled the benathpants up, and then the leggings after them.

Yes.

She knew he would have to deal eventually.

But not right this moment.

He needed time to adjust to his new reality.

And he needed patience. Not just from everyone else...

But with himself as well.

It was easy for those on the outside to pass judgments against those so traumatized.

Satine had been raised to understand them and help bring healing.

She reached for his tunic, but he barked a sharp, “No.”

She glanced at him, waiting for him to explain in his own time.

It didn’t take long. “I’m no longer a Jedi.”

“I will find another shirt for you,” she said quietly, as though it was utterly normal and to be expected.

He’d been tensed as though for a reproach that he shouldn’t care about something so trivial as the cut of a shirt.

Now that tension drained away. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Ah.

The politeness so deeply ingrained in his personality was returning.

He might make it through this yet.

She had almost reached the door when a whisper stopped her.

“What do I do now?”

Satine paused, but didn’t turn around. “You will get to know this new version of your body. You will decide what you want to do next in your life, with your life. And we’ll get you there. Memories like yours will not be easy to live with. I know. We will not run from them or hide. We will make it through this, Obi-Wan.”

“We?”

“I will help as long as you’ll let me; and you’ll stay here until you have someplace you’d rather be.”

“Satine...”

“Yes?”

“I'm— nothing.”

“You're going to lose that bet, Obi.”

“I have nothing to hold on to— no purpose, no code, the Jedi, the _Force_ ; it’s all gone.”

“Then hold on to me until you find your feet. I can take the extra weight for as long as you need. But you will find your feet again, Obi-Wan. We’ll find them.”

“They won’t be mine.”

“They won’t be familiar, but they will be yours. I promise we won’t leave you on anyone else’s feet.”

She reached for the door release.

And then she heard his gasp.

She spun around to find him retreating into a corner, his eyes wide, shaking.

She was instantly by his side. “What is it?” she murmured, reaching out, laying her hand against the back of his shoulder.

“I remember—” he panted. “The blasters, I—”

He groaned and his legs gave out under him, sending him to the floor.

Curled, he clutched at his calves. “I can feel it, I—”

Satine rubbed his back. “Udesi,” she whispered. “Udesi. Hold on. Hold on, Obi. We’ll make it through.”

“And the lightsaber— my ear; my jaw—”

She kept rubbing.

The memories were going to be savage.

“You’re here with me now,” she soothed. “You’re here with me. They aren’t here. K’uur, k’uur. I have you. I have you.” She wrapped her arms carefully around his shoulders, making sure not to give him a feeling of being trapped.

She leaned her head against his.

He crumpled against her, his body shaking with tearless sobs. “I’ve been trained against this.”

“We all have,” she assured him. “That doesn’t make it any easier, or make the pain make more sense. K’uur.”

 

* * *

 

Anakin raced into the observation room, only to discover Obi-Wan, mostly clothed again, curled in the corner with Satine soothing him.

Apparently caught in the grip of either flashbacks or vivid memories.

It felt so loud in the Force. So shattering.

Anakin stood still, leaning against the observation window, and tried to catch his breath.

Force, that was harsh.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Guide:  
> [Soothing Vocabulary 101]
> 
> Udesi (Pronounced /oo-DAY-see/) = Easy/Take it easy
> 
> Mando'ad (Pronounced /man-doh-ahd/) = Child of Mandalore
> 
> K'uur (Pronounced /koor/) = Hush/Shhh
> 
> Gett'se (Pronounced /get-say/) = Closest English equivalent would be “nuts,” since it can be used for food, for anatomy, and for courage.


	3. Chapter 3

Satine turned the light on in the refresher, leaving the door open a crack.

“I don't think I can sleep,” Obi-Wan protested.

Satine made the bed, flattening the covers, then pulled the pillow out from under and set it on top. “I know. So you're not going to.”

“I can't lie down either.” His tone grew a bit more edgy.

“It's vulnerable; you can't defend yourself as well. And you were lying on the ground for most of the beating.”

“If you understand, then _why—_ ”

“The organic part of you is very, very tired. It's been traumatized, and you need to take pity on it. It's just as strung out and scared as you are. It needs rest, even if you can't find it.”

“You're not making any sense.”

“Just trust me, then.”

“I can't lie down. And don't turn the light out.”

“It won't be dark; you'll be able to see. I turned the refresher light on. But it needs to be not quite so bright in here, Obi-Wan, or your organic eye can't rest. It's feeling abused and unappreciated. It needs some kindness.”

He stood very still, as though forcing himself from bolting. He probably was.

She moved over to the wall, turned off the light.

It was dim, but the corners of the room were visible still.

Satine moved back to the bed, knelt down, and checked beneath it.

Nothing there.

He'd shown no signs of fear from that direction, but if it came, she could reassure him she'd already checked.

She went to the door. “Would you prefer it locked or unlocked?”

“Don't leave me alone,” he whispered. “I can't be alone—”

“I'm not going to. Locked, or unlocked?”

“If it's locked, Anakin can't get to me if I need him.”

“Unlocked, then.” She retrieved a bell from her gear and fixed it to the door. “But if it opens, we'll know.”

Satine climbed onto the bed, the side nearest the door. Lying down on her back on top of the covers, she finally allowed her muscles to relax.

It had been a harrowing day and a half.

She'd thought she'd lost him.

No. She couldn't think about that right now, she had to be strong for him.

He wouldn't know what to do with her crying. It would fluster him, and to do that to him in this state was to ask for a complete panic attack.

Or, maybe he would rise to the challenge, forget himself, and try to help _her_.

She didn't think _she_ was up for that.

“Come.” She patted the bed beside her.

For a long moment he didn't move, and then he slowly walked closer.

She let her eyes drift shut.

Oh, _Manda_ , she was tired.

He was hesitant. So hesitant.

_He doesn't want to lead me on. Give me ideas._

He needn't have worried.

She knew him. Knew him very, very well.

“Respect your body, warrior-heart. It needs to be horizontal for a while.”

Obi-Wan slowly lay down on his back beside her.

That lasted all of ten seconds.

He bolted up, breathing hard, eyes wide.

“No. Not going to work,” he panted.

Satine reached out, patted his arm. “Lie down again. This time facing me. Trust me, Ob'ika.”

Stiffly, he tried again.

She pulled his head to rest on the pillow between her neck and shoulder, and pulled his arm over her, like she was a giant cushion.

“I'm your pillow. Listen for my heartbeat, Mando'ad. Quiet. Quiet. Steady. Close your eyes.”

For a moment he remained stiff and still, like a doll that had been pushed into place.

But as she closed her eyes and simply relaxed, he slowly did so as well.

The first sign that it was working was that he adjusted his head's angle.

And then he snuggled a bit closer.

His arm adjusted, tightening over her, the artificial bicep flexing.

Like a child finding comfort from a trusted pillow, he relaxed against her.

And then his breathing slowed.

“Rest your eyes,” she murmured.

He sighed.

And that was probably when his eyes fell shut.

 

* * *

 

Anakin bolted out of bed, heart thundering, blood pounding in his ears.

Obi-Wan's scream in the Force tore through his head.

He was being tortured.

Again.

How in _blazes_ had they gotten to him _here_?

It didn't matter.

Lightsaber already ignited in his hand, he charged out of his room, down the hall, through the observation area without even glancing at the window.

 

* * *

 

A scream jolted Satine awake.

If it hadn't, the fact that Obi-Wan pushed up off her would have done it.

The gesture was violent, terrified.

Pained.

She was instantly up. “Udesi, udesi,” she urged. “A dream. Just a dream. You're here with me. You're safe. Ob'ika. you're safe. Udesi, udesi warrior-heart.”

She could see the sweat on his forehead, his trembling, his gasping for air.

She put her hand on his back once she felt he was calm enough to not break it.

The door hissed open and a blue lightsaber blazed in, followed by a ready for murder Anakin.

He stopped short as his gaze swept the room, then landed on them.

He nearly tripped over himself as he hurried to leave. “I'm sorry; I'm sorry— my mistake; I—”

Satine couldn't see his blush in the dim light of the room, but she knew it was there.

“No; come in,” Satine commanded. “It's all right.”

He hesitated in the doorway, then stepped through, turning off the lightsaber. “In the Force, it sounded— it felt like it was happening all over again—”

“In a way it was,” Satine admitted. “A very vivid dream. Probably one in which he was trapped; couldn't wake up.”

“Yes,” a very shaky voice spoke up.

“It's normal,” Satine said quietly. “And also pretty terrible. But that doesn't mean you _shouldn't_ check on him when you feel that. It will be a while before you can tell the difference, Anakin.”

The young man's breathing was beginning to return to normal. “You scared the kark out of me, Obi-Wan.”

“It was scared out of me too.” Obi-Wan ran a hand over his face, then froze as he saw the metal. Satine pressed his back more firmly with her hand. “It's all right,” she said quietly. “It's yours. Complete the gesture.”

For a moment he hesitated, and then he completed the sweep.

“We're fine here,” Satine spoke up.

“Fine?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice full of bitterness. “I'm anything _but_ fine.”

“Right. Well, I'll leave you two to whatever... you were doing,” Anakin backed towards the door again.

Obi-Wan stiffened.

“Udesi,” Satine murmured.

The words he'd been ready to spew at his former apprentice sank back, and he didn't say them. She could feel the change against her hand, the forward movement, the breath drawn in; and its quiet release as he held himself back.

Satine lay back down again to face the ceiling.

“He thinks—”

“Does it matter?” Satine asked. “People have always thought.”

“I'm not forsaking the Jedi Code just because _they_ have forsaken _me_ —”

“Udesi.”

“I can't sleep anymore.”

“I completely understand that. But to get up now would be to let those chakaare who tortured you win. Stay awake with your eyes closed; or, if you can't do that, keep your eyes open. But relax your muscles again. They need it.”

“They're metal.”

“Not all of them. And to abuse them just because their brethren don't need the same care would be unfair and cruel.”

He reluctantly lay back.

“Relax,” she encouraged. “Relax.”

“They've abandoned me.”

“K'uur.”

“They cast me out.”

“Udesi.”

“They... _disowned_ me.”

The hurt, disbelief, and utter rejection in his voice was hard to take.

It wouldn't be helpful to say, _it's not like that, it's for your own good_ , or _you can't blame them_.

All of which might be true.

None of which would be healing.

All of which could put a strain on their relationship, and he needed stability right now.

So she didn't point out that Anakin _hadn't_ abandoned him.

That he'd felt his terror in the Force and had come for blood, as fast as his feet could carry him.

“Relax those muscles, warrior-heart.”

Slowly, he lay back down again. Stiff. With distance between himself and her.

“K'uur,” she murmured again. “K'uur.”

Satine slept beyond lightly the rest of the night, spending most of the time covertly keeping watch over the trembling Jedi.

He didn't sleep at _all._

Early the following morning Satine sat up, and Obi-Wan gratefully launched up and away from the bed.

“You did well,” she murmured. “Want to help me go find breakfast?”

“Droids don't eat,” was his near-belittling retort.

She held out her hand. “Come with me?”

“I'm not  _ready._ ”

“Not ready for what?”

His expression turned distraught. “For people to  _see me_ .”

Satine stepped closer.

His gaze faltered, fell away from her own.

“Why?” she asked.

His breathing grew strained and he did not reply.

“What is it you fear?”

He stole a quick glance at her face and shook his head.

“Do you believe cybernetic prosthetics are shameful?” Satine clarified.

He scowled at her. “After Anakin, Tholme, Wolffe, you can  _ask_ me that?”

“Is it because you believe that not being able to touch the Force is shameful?”

His face froze, then seemed to shatter. “No,” he whispered. “Of course not.” His eyes pleaded with her to not think of him so poorly—

“Is it because you fear people looking at you, and seeing that you lost a battle? That terrible things were done to you? Do you think that your scars will make them think you are less of a warrior than you are?”  
Obi-Wan's shoulders sagged. “No, Satine. I mean, certainly. They'll see me and wonder. But they do that for Anakin's eye. For Echo. Cody. I lived with you for a year; I know better than to think scars demeaning.”  
Satine had to smile just a little at his slightly reproachful tone for the end of the final sentence.

“Are you afraid people will see that you've been hurt in the past, and so will try to hurt you now?”

Obi-Wan gave a humorless chuckle. “I imagine you would have quite a bit to say to anyone who made that mistake.”

“As would you. You are formidable still, dear heart.”

Satine took a step closer before asking her next question, the one she'd saved for last. “Are you afraid people will look at you, see that you were once a Jedi and are no longer?”

His smile vanished, his face going emotionless.

“Are you afraid people will look at you and see a little boy who fought desperately for his dreams, who thought he'd attained them, and who has had them stripped away with no way of preventing it?”  
His lip quivered.

Satine took one final step into his space, looking up into his eyes. “Are you afraid people will look at you and think your family threw you away... so how worthless must you be?”

One small shiver passed through his frame, and then he was looking away in silent pain, the still-living part of his face twisting.

“Satine—” A rough chuckle escaped him, tear-stained as it may have been. “Congratulations. You found it.” His voice sounded bitter.

She simply lifted his durasteel knuckles to her lips for a light kiss.

“Aren't you going to tell me I fought bravely?” Obi-Wan demanded, eyes like dying coals. “I fought _well_ and I deserve my rest and no one will think the less of me?”  
“I will not tell a little boy who was nearly left behind that being left behind now is not the greatest trial he will ever face.”

Obi-Wan bit his lip, the last vestiges of his composure lost. “ _Satine,_ ” he whispered, voice broken.

“The longer you put off stepping outside that door, the more difficult it will become. I want you to accompany me. We will simply go down to the kitchen by the back ways, collect something to eat, and then we'll come back. We'll try eating here first.”

He stared at her in hopeless misery. “And what if we run into Anakin?”

“Is Anakin not your dearest friend?”

“That doesn't mean— I can't— I can't  _forgive_ him, Satine. He  _did this_ to me.”

“Did what?”  
“ _This._ ” Obi-Wan gestured with a silver hand.

Satine gave a nod. “He cut off your limbs and set fire in your flesh?”

“No,” Obi-Wan snapped. “He made me a  _monster._ ”

“Is Echo a monster?”  
“ _No._ ”

“Then why are you one? You have both suffered terrible things at the hands of cruel men. Both of you carry visibly the proof that you survived what has broken others.”

He looked half ashamed and half vicious. “And I should be _proud_ of such trophies,” he mocked. “The way _you_ would be.”  
“But we have already determined that it is not the new limbs that you despise so thoroughly.”  
He didn't trust himself to look at her, seeming afraid. His body curled in on itself, making him look tiny and sad. “I should have died. He should have let me go. I don't want to be here. My life was over, Satine. _Is over._ ”  
“It is,” she agreed, startling him. “And another is beginning, rising from its ashes. A new life. New struggles. New victories. _Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi_ may be gone, but _Obi-Wan Kenobi, Survivor_ stands before me. And I think him beautiful.”

She was not surprised when he sank to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. She crouched beside him and smoothed her hand over his head as his body tried to weep and couldn't find the moisture. His shoulders heaved, his teeth clenched; soft, tortured breaths escaped him.

“Why?” he whispered. “Why must I live two lives? I only wanted the one.”

 

* * *

 

The clothing felt foreign against the strange input the metal arms sent into his brain.

The cuts were different. The drape.

Mandalorian.

It covered him, throat to boots, with long sleeves, and thin gloves that would keep things from getting tangled in the open work of his hands until he learned how to work around that.

Still, Obi-Wan felt self-conscious about his face and throat.

_The Jedi who failed so terribly he's no longer even a Jedi._

Down in the kitchens, they all knew Satine.

They also didn't seem to think it abnormal to have her peering into pots and adding just a hint more of fire to certain dishes based on smell alone.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened as he watched.  _Dear Force._

Sure enough, Satine gathered together a meal and returned to him, a cheerful smile on her face.

Though uncomfortable with being here, no one stared at him.

_You forget that here, such injuries are common._

No, his discomfort now had  _everything_ to do with what lurked in that basket.

“Satine?”

“Hm?”

His stomach growled, starling him.  _Guess_ you're  _still me._

“What do you plan to do with that basket?”  
“I'm hungry. If you decide to not ignore the growling in your stomach, we can share.”

“I suppose you remember how much weight I lost during my year here?”  
“If what you put in would just stay  _down,_ there wouldn't have been a problem.”

He scowled at the devilish gleam in her eye. “Very amusing. The question remains, why would I wish to inflict on my mouth the chemical burns we know your cuisine causes to my skin,  _today_ of all days?”

“You forget.” Satine leaned over to tap his arm. “Your mouth has been fortified.”

His sneer melted away.

“Aren't you curious to see what your new mouth can tolerate?”

He gave her a very  _unconvinced_ look.

“Besides. I requested milk pudding. I have a whole tub of it—”

Horror seized him and he froze in the deserted hallway. “You did  _what_ ?”

“Unless you've become allergic when I wasn't looking?”

“ _Satine,_ ” and even he could hear the whine in his voice.

She sent him an unrepentant smile. “Oh, look. Ego.”

“ _Why_ ? If I have to  _live_ here for the next few weeks or months, and they  _know_ I can't handle your  _food_ ?”

Satine waved her hand. “Have a little faith, love. It's in our edible repertoire because we  _do consume_ it. With additions. I have the additions in little bins that you can choose to not touch except in a hazmat suit. No one thinks you're a wimp. Except for you.”

He felt just a bit sheepish and suspected it showed.  _But look at that. She made me feel things other than abject fear._

None of them were particularly  _pleasant,_ but it felt  _different._

And anything different from  _hell_ was... something worth trying.

“Has Anakin tried our food yet?” Satine asked.

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Maybe.”  
And there. The grim lack of interest was swift returning.

She turned down a side hallway, startling him out of his spiral. “Where are you going?”

“Come and see.”  
“ _Satine—_ ”

“There won't be people, it's my private garden. Come on, Obi-Wan. Please?”

He found himself following because she kept  _walking,_ and the idea of returning to his room  _alone_ terrified him.

At least following her meant he wouldn't be  _alone,_ even if the terror remained.

_No good options anymore._

Satine led him into a garden perched high above most of the city, staring out at the glittering view. Blue glass as far as they eye could see, carved in beautiful sweeping architecture.

_You have somehow created beauty out of the nuclear wasteland of this planet._

Nothing outside remained except for toxic, dead sand and the broken remains of what once were cities and farmland. Absolute, complete wreckage, destruction of a sort that might never be cleansed enough to tolerate life  _again._

_But here you are._

He reached out to touch a leaf, the caress of his metal fingers almost reverent.  _Life, in the middle of hell._

_She wants to do that with_ me  _now._

He helped her spread a blanket on the grass, fumbling a little with the new sensations of his body, nearly dropping the fabric before he figured out just  _how_ tightly to grip it.

Before, he hadn't believed she  _could_ find anything  _worth_ fighting for within him.

But any sane person would have demanded Mandalore be abandoned and its people relocated to its still habitable moons.

_And this Mando'ad is not sane._ He watched her as she dropped down on the quilt, opened the basket, and pulled out various containers. 

She  _had_ invented, then nurtured and grown and  _created_ almost by sheer force of will this oasis out of the vastness outside.

He found he no longer believed that she  _couldn't_ create beauty out of  _his_ life too.

_If she rescued Manda'yaim out of the wreckage, she could do the same for me._

The only question that remained, then, was if he was  _willing_ to allow her to.

He could reject the proffered hand, or he could grip it and allow it to help him in the ways he couldn't help himself right now.

_And maybe, after putting trust in her, I will someday be able to put trust in myself again too._

It would hurt like hell, of course. It would be months, perhaps years of desperate struggle.

_And do I really want that?_

He crouched, wobbling just a little, the legs still unfamiliar.

He watched the quiet calm in Satine's face.

_If this had happened to her, I would be a wreck._

_Perhaps that is why it is this way, then. So we both have a chance._

The Mandalorian sent him a swift smile, and held out the tub of milk pudding.

Obi-Wan grimaced, and felt...  _something_ when she chuckled in response. Something not  _awful._ He focused on his fingers to make sure he didn't drop the humiliating meal, setting it down and releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd held when it touched down without spilling.

She held out a utensil next, aspect still playful.

_As if she_ weren't  _teaching me how to eat again._

_How precious you are, oh Mando'ad._

A thought occurred to him with such impact that he nearly dropped his spoon.

_It could be_ my,  _now. What would it feel like to think of her as_ my  _Mando'ad?_

A shiver ran down his back.

Possession would be allowed now.  _I could be her boyfriend, or consort, or whatever she desired, and she could be the same in return to me._

He eased the spoon into the pudding, giving it more attention than it technically required.

_I could... I could kiss her, if I wanted._

The thought made his face heat up.

_Can embarrassment still turn me red?_

“Do you want to try something a bit more spicy than that, or do you want to play it safe?”

She held a small box, the sigil of which he recognized.

_You process it while wearing_ gloves  _because it will_ burn  _the skin on your hands, but you expect me to put it in my mouth._

He would  _never_ understand Mandalorians.

“Do you want to try anything?”

His gaze snapped up to her lips.  _Yes. Yes, I do._

_No, Kenobi. You're reacting to no longer having a code. You should figure out what code you want to live by now, figure out an outline of the sort of person you want to be_ before  _you start diving off of cliffs and mainlining drugs or— or—_

_What you have with her is_ good  _now. Very, very good. Figure out exactly what it is you want before you try to alter it. Right now_ this  _is the only stable relationship you have left. The only one you_ know  _where it stands. Don't be so quick to throw the last familiar thread away until you've become accustomed to the way the others have changed..._

_Or vanished._

_Do not cast yourself upon the seas without a compass or lighthouse._

Fingers touched his jaw, feather light.

Startled, he raised his eyes to find Satine's gazing into them.

“We have time,” she murmured. “If you will grant me time, we have time.”

He gave her an unsteady nod. “I will stay.” He hadn't been sure of it until  _this_ moment when she asked it of him. “I will not run.”

He could read the relief spilling through her eyes.

“Then we have time,” she whispered, smiling as her eyes sparkled with sudden tears. “Breathe, warrior-heart.”

“Am I going to be alright? Someday?” Obi-Wan choked.

She searched his eyes. “May I kiss you in the way of my people?”  
He gave a wordless nod, heart  _painful_ considering it was only  _half human_ anymore—

She leaned her forehead against his, the pressure gentle and steady.

A light tremor passed through him, muscle and metal, as he  _knew_ what this gesture meant to her.

_Don't ever pull away—_

“Yes,” she whispered. “Someday, you're going to be alright. Not today, not tomorrow. But someday. And as long as you let me, I will walk it by your side, and you will not face any of it alone.”

He squeezed his eyes shut as a tear escaped him and a sob caught in his throat.

“You are perfect, and you are  _here._ ” She leaned her head into his  _more,_ the pressure slightly painful now.

He submitted to it, pressing back.

Dear  _Force_ was it licentious.

Amazed by his own brazenness, Obi-Wan longed for the moment to  _never end._

_I could stay like this forever._

And then she pulled away, placing her lips for a moment against his forehead before sitting back.

He didn't attempt any chemical destruction of his mouth.

He'd already done something quite shocking and outside of his former moral compass.

_I kissed a woman._

No...

_I kissed Satine._

He shivered, unable to prevent it, and saw she noticed. He loved the way  _knowing_ lit her face, sparkled in her eyes.

The picnic passed by in a daze, and when she suggested they take a walk through the gardens before returning, Obi-Wan padded by her side with a contentment he'd thought he'd never feel again.

_If we never said a word, if we simply walked, arm in arm, for hours on end, it would be perfection._

That's what they did.

And when they returned to his room, he found himself exhausted enough that he lay down, closed his eyes, and fell asleep almost before Satine's weight dipped the bed beside him.

Tomorrow was worth enduring, perhaps, just to see if something might  _happen._

_She said my old life is dead._

_But that means I'm living something else now._

_It means anything can happen._

All he'd ever wanted was to be a Jedi.

_I was one._

And now he could be no longer.

He could be...  _anything_ ... now. He didn't really want to be anything other than a Jedi, but perhaps... other tastes might reveal themselves with time.

_Or maybe I'll just get to kiss Satine again._

That alone might be worth living through some significant pain to get to.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

“Good morning, Darling.”

Rousing from the drowsy warmth he'd been mired in, Obi-Wan opened his eyes to find Satine's watching him.

He experienced what felt like a blush. “Hello.”

He sounded tentative in his own ears, like a shy youngling.

_You are an adult, Obi-Wan Kenobi._

“Or, rather, evening. We slept most of the day. Are you famished?”

Unwilling to move just yet since at the moment he felt no pain, Obi-Wan opened his mouth to say _no_ when his stomach growled.

“You're outvoted,” Satine informed him. “Do you want to stay put or come with me while I fetch dinner?”

He twisted his face into a wry expression. “Can I trust you not to spike my meal with something that will obliterate my metal tastebuds?”  
“Hm.” She waggled her eyebrows at him.

“That does not inspire me with confidence,” Obi-Wan protested as she rolled up and off the bed.

She chuckled. “You look comfortable. Lie still and try not to worry too much.”

“Now I'm _panicked._ ”

“Don't you trust me?” she asked, sounding _so_ innocent.

Obi-Wan glared at her. “You have callouses on the inside of your mouth! Your opinion doesn't carry _relevance_ for the rest of us.”

“How would you know?” was her sly retort.

It had him looking away, mortified.

Also... _stunned._

She hadn't flirted _this_ way since... since the beginning. Before she found out he valued his Jedi set of morals as very dear.

He snuck a glance up at her as the door slid shut behind her, and then relaxed into the mattress with a groan.

 _Am I... physically_ available _now?_

The thought had enraged him not long ago, when _Anakin_ assumed so.

_But I did let her kiss me yesterday. And it wasn't just a light peck. It was... it was intense._

They were probably going to need to talk about that.

 

* * *

 

In the kitchen Satine found Yoda, giving directions about a small pot of stew.

“No! _No_! None of that, give Yoda! Burn years off my life you would, _hmm_? _Assassination,_ you would attempt? _Smell it, I can!_ ”

The cook stared at him in bewilderment. “There's no _taste_ in what you've _cooked_!”

“ _No taste_ ? Plenty of _taste_ there is, for those with _tongues left to taste_ !” Yoda jabbed the man in the knees with his gimer stick. “ _Burned_ yours _off_ you have; and with it most of your sense!”

The cook retreated, looking _unconvinced_ and muttering, “If that doesn't turn out appealing, it _isn't my fault._ ”

“My first time cooking this is not,” Yoda snarked back.

Satine reached down to tap him on the shoulder. “Finding everything alright, Master?”

“ _Hmph._ Finding _more_ than I seek.” He sent a wary look up at her. “Young Obi-Wan, how is? _Killed_ yet, by what you call _food_?”

Satine smiled. “He's refusing to eat it, Master.”  
“Wisdom, that boy has.” Yoda reached up to stir his pot, sending a warning glare at one of the chefs who passed a little too close nearby.

“Is Anakin still here?”

“Leave soon, he will not. Go I must. Calling, is the war. Command Skywalker to leave Obi-Wan so soon, I cannot. Ready to see him Obi-Wan is, think you? Or not?”

Satine shook her head. “I don't know, Master. I have seen a slight crack in his hopelessness. He is vaguely curious about the future. It gives me hope, Master Yoda, though he is unwilling to risk quite so much as to hope himself.”

“Long will his recovery be.” Yoda both looked and sounded mournful. “Long and painful. Courage will he lose many times along the way.”

Satine gave a nod. “I will stand by him through it all.”

“Relieved by it, I am. Need you, he does. Cling to the old, he would. Never spread his wings. Aches, my heart does, to shove him from the nest.”

_Ah. But during our kiss yesterday, I think he realized stretching his wings might not be all bad._

It would take every ounce of self control she possessed to not push this too fast.

_For so long, this would have been impossible._

To have him by her side day after day, to wake up and see him sleeping, brow relaxed in calm, looking vulnerable and beautiful and _there_ with her.

Picnics in the garden, long kisses in the sunset.

No, those were things their romance could never have had before.

_His life has been shattered, and he believes nothing remains._

_But there is always_ something _that can be found._

“Changed, something about you has.” Yoda gave a single nod to his head. “In the Force, near _giddy_ you seem.”

The smile curved her lips again. “Is that so?”

“When little Kryzes there are, tell me you should. To meet them I would like.”

A laugh exploded from her before she had a chance to curb it. “A little ahead of yourself, there, Master. It was just one kiss. And wouldn't Obi-Wan be _mortified_ to discover you to be such a matchmaker?”

“Some secrets Yoda must keep, or lose his mystery he would.” He sent her a bright smile. “Difficult to persuade he should not be.”

Satine's mirth evaporated. She crouched down on her heels, lowering her voice. “I am concerned about that, Master. Everything in me says to pursue that advantage, to lure him and woo him and claim his body and loyalty _soon._ I have observed other cultures to believe that moving more slowly could be of benefit, and I fear what I might do to him. He is so lost right now, Master. You've always told me to follow my instincts, but my instincts say to _make him mine,_ and I'm afraid that if I do too swiftly, he will not learn who he is _apart_ from me. I don't want him to define himself as my consort and think he has no other options.”

“Consort,” Yoda chuckled. “Why surprised I am not?”

Satine shook her head. “I haven't _asked_ him and I _won't,_ for as long as I can manage to put it off.”

“Too long, _don't_!”

“You jump far too quickly to _bonding_ and _children,_ dear Master Jedi. Obi-Wan is not ready to swear such an oath yet; may not be for years.”

“Willing to wait, are you?”

“As long as it takes.” Satine met his suddenly evaluating gaze without flinching. _Beneath the joviality, still fiercely protective of him._ Obi-Wan would always have a champion in Yoda, whether he knew it or not. “But Master, I want to kiss him again, I want to hold him through his nightmares, and I want to _show_ him that his body is _not_ the undesirable thing he thinks it is. I do not know how long I can hold back.”

Yoda thought for a moment. “What signs need you? _When,_ capable of _consenting_ will you think his mind? Judge he is ready, when will you?”

“I fear I have little understanding of healthy romantic relationships,” Satine sighed. “My point of reference was what was normal for my people. Whirlwind with a fervency that sometimes broke one or both parties.”

Yoda harrumphed. “Sounds like most relationships, that does. Sell yourself short, you should not. For _nineteen years_ have the two of you loved, learning one another's souls. _Whirlwind._ Bah. Human lifetimes, _short_ are. How much _longer_ will you _take_?”

“Was he _not_ married to the Order, Master? To his beliefs? How would it help us for me to be his rebound?”

“If the war over today was, _changed_ our lives would be. To bask in peace, in no longer fighting, in _living—_ caution the Jedi to _not_ adjust too quickly to freedom from that pain, would you? The parameters of our lives, change in a second can. The Jedi, from peace into a war. From war into peace again someday, I hope. Today we have. Tomorrow, guaranteed is not. Shaken, Obi-Wan has been. Decide what to believe, what to keep, what to let go of, he must. The weight of the universe, _no longer_ he carries. Options closed before, _open_ are now. _Live._ Live now, he should. Know him you do, better than almost all. Watch him you will. _Know,_ you do, when _well_ he is; also his signs of danger.”

Satine gave a faint smile. “I'm not sure my mind is responding the way you intend it to. Now I want to run back to his room and kiss him senseless.”

“A head injury, he has had! _Gentle_ you must be! Smash his forehead in you must not!”

“That's a promise, Master.”

“Allow him to try and fail we must, and encourage him to try again. If attempt something only when success is guaranteed he does, stunted his life will become. The greatest danger _now_ lies _there._ ”

Satine bowed her head in recognition. “I will give more consideration to your words, Master, but I must collect a meal now.”

“Hm. Yes. Food is good.”

The strong smell of something dangerously nearing _overdone_ wafted to Satine's nostrils—

Yoda's eyes widened and he spun around. “No! Burn you must not!”

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what was taking Satine so long.

He peered down at his feet, flexing his toes and watching the machinery curve in response to his brain's commands.

The technology was superb, and a couple of the quirks of Anakin's own arm had been smoothed out in the two years of invention since then.

_Undoubtedly he would be willing to teach me everything I needed to know about my new limbs._

_Yes. You. You're part of me now. Satine says so, and I trust Satine._

Did he trust her _this_ far?

He pushed off the bed, edging into the refresher.

Standing before the mirror, he tried to find the courage to look up.

_No. No, I don't want to see my face._

But _she_ looked at this face with love. _She_ kissed this face.

_As much as I dislike it, this face is mine now._

Heart thundering in his chest, hands shaking, fear pounding through his blood, Obi-Wan raised his gaze.

The face that stared back at him seemed completely foreign.

He winced, refusing to look away.

_Dear Force. I'm a monster. I'm the thing children have nightmares about. I'm hideous._

A soft step in the door was all the warning he had that Satine had returned. He shifted his gaze in the mirror so he could see her standing behind him.

“What are you thinking?” Satine asked, voice quiet.

“That vanity over my appearance will no longer be a temptation, and that flirtation will no longer be a strategy I can use to save my mission or life.”  
Satine stepped closer, something in her eyes that unnerved him. “And do you know what _I'm_ thinking?”

“That it's not so bad?” he guessed, hating the disparaging tone in his own voice.

“I'm thinking I'm seeing a man who is fripping brave. He chose, all on his own, to face down a mirror that he ran in fear from not long ago. The grim thoughts you're now feeling are only possible because you killed one that ruled you a matter of hours ago. The one that said _I can't look in a mirror._ ”

Obi-Wan swallowed, wanting _desperately_ to believe her. “I did think that, didn't I?”  
“You did. And you proved it wrong just now.” She stepped even closer, still watching his expression through the mirror. “The new grim thoughts are your hopelessness trying to fight back, afraid it's going to lose you. It saw you smile earlier, and it fears losing its power over you.”

Obi-Wan turned to look into her face without the mirror's aid. “It is stronger than me.”  
“Ah.” She had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye, she stood so close. “Good thing, then, that one does not have to be stronger than an opponent to defeat them. Just craftier. Or more swift. Or more flexible.”

“You really think I can survive this?” he asked, voice barely more than a whisper.

“I know that you and I, working together, have moved _mountains._ If you cannot believe just yet; let me believe for us both.”

He reached out, not sure what he was asking for, but she took a step even closer, _hugging_ him.

Startled, bewildered—

_I should pull away—_

_No, no, I don't want to. And there is no reason to now._

He wasn't quite sure what to do with his arms, self-conscious of their new unyielding nature.

He settled for an awkward return embrace, and tried not to think of the shape of her body against his.

 _It's a hug, pervert,_ he hissed to himself.

Satine leaned up, pressed her lips to his cheek.

He watched in overwhelmed silence as she walked back out of the refresher to unpack their basket again.

“Satine?” Hell, did he sound as afraid and unsure of himself as he thought he did?

“Hmm?”  
“I'm—” _Just say it. You're an adult, just say it and hold your head up while doing so._ “I'm not ready for sex.”

She didn't seem surprised, barely glanced up. “That's alright. When have I ever pressured you for sex, darling?”

_Never._

She'd always respected what he wanted— and didn't want— to do with his body, and his lack of comfort with hers.

“Come eat with me?”  
Obi-Wan found his feet carrying him back to the bed.

He hesitated once there. “I want—” Dear _Force,_ he couldn't just _say_ it, could he?  
“Yes? What do you want?”  
_I'm pink to the tip of my ear. Aren't I. Kark._ “I would like to kiss you again. If you didn't mind.”  
“I see.” Satine moved back around the bed, once again entering his personal space.

He wasn't quite sure what to _do—_ to hold his ground or step back, so he just _froze—_

“But Darling, I can't reach your forehead if it's tipped so far back.”

He couldn't seem to move. His gaze wandered to her lips without his permission—

“Hmm.” Satine reached up, cradled the back of his neck with her hand, gently drew him down to where she could press her forehead to his. “And now that we're here,” she whispered, “is there anything else you would like?”

He leaned in to capture her lips with his own before he lost his nerve. He opened his mouth against hers, tongue brushing against her lip. She pushed into the kiss, and suddenly her tongue was _in_ his mouth.

He tried to implement what he knew, tried to not overreact, tried to let her lead, instead just caressing his tongue to hers, bewildered by how _good_ it felt. The sensory input was quite a bit more than he'd been expecting.

Pulling back, he searched her eyes, but she looked both pleased and surprised.

“Have you studied _diagrams,_ darling, because last I heard you hadn't learned how to make this form of kiss yet?”

“Detailed diagrams. It was an odd mission. Qui-Gon found it much more amusing than I did.” Obi-Wan leaned in again, needing to taste her once more.

Satine chuckled against him, allowing her body to melt against his. “Aren't. I. Lucky,” she offered in between exploring his mouth, and oh _Force_ , it did things to his _mind_ and his body, and he wasn't sure what to make of _any_ of it, but it felt _nice._

She pressed her lips to his nose in a light, playful caress before she seized his hand and turned him to inspect the food she'd brought up.

Food seemed just a little pointless at the moment, but he allowed her to guide him into eating.

Fortunately she hadn't laced what she offered him with anything particularly lethal.

As he helped her pack the empty dishes back into the basket she sent him a quiet, steadying glance. “It's Triday. I'll be meeting with citizens who request to speak with me. Much as I love the thought of spending another evening lazing about with you, I do not like the thought of disappointing them.”  
“Of course,” he replied, as steadily as he could manage, heart leaping into his throat.

She stood, hooking the basket over her arm. “ _However,_ If I'm down there alone, I'll be wondering what _you're_ doing up here. So how about you come down and sit with me, and then we can visit in between petitioners?”

“I don't think— no, I'm afraid not.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Are you afraid to be seen with me?”  
_She's baiting me. She wants me to say it aloud—_

Knowing it didn't keep it from spilling out of his mouth anyway.

“ _No._ I don't want people to... _see_ me.”  
She arched an eyebrow at him. “The kitchen staff and my guards certainly haven't given you any cause to regret _them_ having seen you, have they?”

“No...”  
She moved around the bed to lay a gentle hand on his arm. “That's because this body of yours is not a spectacle, here. Many have walked a path of severe injury and loss of specific senses before you. There are those who can no longer speak, or see, or hear, or calculate simple mathematics anymore; you have lost the eyes of your heart. I know you feel alone, but so do they. I know you fear my people, but they do not see you as broken.”

He felt her hand in his, a light, requesting tug that he follow, though it was not a demand.

_I could stay here._

Alone. With nothing to do.

“I wouldn't mind having your opinion on some of these requests. My Senator is gone, my Prime Minister was _also_ a traitor— I have fewer minds to consider the angles with now. If you fear you would be bored down there, I could definitely put you to work.”

_Be... useful?_

That settled it.

He followed without a word more of complaint.

 

* * *

 

It took him a while to relax into the chair set just a step down from hers on the dais. For the first several people, he sat stiff and wary, ready to panic at the slightest sign of a need for such a response.

As he saw that they glanced at him only upon first entering, then focused entirely on Satine and whatever it was they wanted, Obi-Wan's posture eased back. He started _listening_ to what they had to say, and when the seventh person left, she asked him his opinion.

“It seems like an excellent idea, but would it divert resources from a more pressing place? Is the famine still as bad as it was last time I was here?”  
Satine gave a nod. “Padmé has promised Republic assistance, but the Senate has been slow to approve it. We cannot count on that help any time soon.”

“I'm afraid exploration is low on the priority list, then,” Obi-Wan mused. “But it _is_ a good idea and could perhaps be shelved until after the war?”

“Agreed.”

Satine hadn't anticipated how _good_ it would feel to work with Obi-Wan in this way. She'd fought by his side as young adults, she'd hunted starving creatures to try to save the spark of life within three starving people. She'd fought his body to save him from succumbing to his terribly infected wound, offered up by a desperate, dying stag.

She'd seen the moment when he decided it was better to go hungry than eat a fluffy creature they'd cornered.

She knew exactly where his breaking points lay, how his eyes looked when he approached them, how he looked after he'd been forced over them.

She'd helped Qui-Gon put the pieces back together.

But she'd never fought back-to-back with him _politically._

It startled her, how _right_ it felt. How much it felt like a home she'd never known.

They walked arm-in-arm to the meeting hall for Satine's final requirement for the day, still discussing the last suggestion that had been made.

_He needed something to do outside of just staring at what has changed._

For now, this would do.

 

* * *

 

Satine had a meeting in the late evening to try to unify what was left of her government after the still-fairly-recent reveal of several traitors in their midst.

 _How many of you sitting at this table are actually loyal?_ Obi-Wan wondered. He suspected Satine had to deal with the exact same question every day.

 _You_ thought _that you could count on the Prime Minister, even if everyone else proved hollow._

_But he was just as corrupt as the others._

The thought _she needs backup in the worst way_ tried to form, but Obi-Wan refused to look at it.

 _I do not like politics._ _I do not like politicians. This is temporar—_ “That is absurd. If you cut funding to the schools, it won't _help_ the food shortage. The schools are feeding the children— in some cases, those are the only meals they receive in a day. Let's say your proposed ship purchases _could_ bring food in, it wouldn't alleviate the problem _enough_ so that all of the poorer families could eat much better than they already are. Instead of relieving hunger, you would make it _worse_ for the most defenseless people.”

“They would provide _jobs,_ a sense of _pride,_ and renewed _hope._ The people look at this government and see _no action_ taken to alleviate the hunger being faced.”

“If it's a _gesture_ you want, pick one that won't exacerbate the problem.”

“Like _what_?” the woman snapped back.

Obi-Wan glanced at Satine, realizing she'd been silent for the last several seconds.

“If you have a suggestion, by all means, speak.” She sent him a nod.

And that was all he needed. “Unification Day is coming up. Make an announcement that the palace will open its doors to the children at midday, and feed them. We might all have to tighten our belts a bit more, but no real damage would be done, the idea of a celebration would certainly lift spirits, and parents want their children cared for. Demonstrate you care, give to them from your own stores, not from people who are near starving as it is, and give the populace a gala that will entrance them. Bring in the news agencies. Stream it live. Let the adults at home watch as the children compete in harmless games for— I don't know. Prizes that cost nothing. The team who wins a three-legged race get to shake hands with the Duchess or something. It'll make their day, they'll have a full month of expectation getting ready for it, they'll be able to talk about it for weeks after—”

The politicians stared at him as if he'd gone mad.

“Our _own_ stores?” one sputtered, interrupting him.

Satine leaned forward. “Certainly. I will be the first to contribute.”

“But the decoration costs _alone—_ ”

“No need to decorate.” Obi-Wan shrugged. “The vast majority of children have never seen the inside this palace before. It will be magical all on its own. There's certainly room enough, unless Sundari's population has exploded since I was here last.”

He nearly froze, heart in his throat at what he just admitted. _Will they speak of what happened—?_

But... no one batted an eyelid.

“It's just a little higher now, but we _do_ have room.”  
“And what about the _older_ ones? You don't mean to bring in infants to eighteen-year-olds, do you?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Keep it to the little ones, then alert the teachers of the older ages that they should come up with their own celebrations to be held at the same time. That they should send in notification of what they've done, and images. You can broadcast them in the following weeks _after_ Unification Day, and have a competition. The most creative expression of patriotism would win, perhaps send the news agencies there to interview the students. Perhaps the Duchess could visit their classroom at a different time and— again, I don't know— sign their shoes or something.”

“And _who_ would go through _all the entries_ to sort out finalists?” shot back one of the older men.

“ _I_ would.” _I don't really have anything else to do,_ and Force damn it, but he had warmed to the subject and this felt like something worth doing.

It rocked him, just a little.

There was something that felt... worth... doing.

Satine gave a nod, looking pleased. “I would be willing to be on a panel of judges for the finalists. Perhaps we could ask the minister of education, and a celebrity.”

“And how would we _pay_ them?”

“We'll ask if they're interested in doing it for free.” Satine spread her hands in a regal shrug. “If they're not interested in free publicity, we'll go to someone else.”

Another face— Obi-Wan hadn't quite put names and job titles to each of them yet— frowned. “And what of the _other_ cities? This only helps _Sundari._ ”

“An excellent question. When we reconvene tomorrow, I expect each of you will have suggestions for that point.” Satine stood, gave them all a quiet smile, held her hand towards Obi-Wan, drooped in a clear command.

He obeyed, drawing that hand to his hooked elbow, and allowed her to sweep out of the room.

“Can you _do_ that?” he whispered, leaning closer to her once the door closed behind them.

She smirked. “This is only a partial democracy, my dear. I most certainly can. You had some good ideas. I look forward to implementing them.”

“I do too.” His voice dropped quiet, his gaze falling to watch the floor as they continued walking. “I want to see some life, surviving in the middle of all this hell.”

“See some of the good that has come from the blood and tears we shed so many years ago? Yes. I would enjoy that as well.”

Her feet paused, so he stayed his own in response. Hesitant, he looked up, found her smiling into his eyes.

“Look at you,” she murmured. “So ready to help me. After all my people have done to you.”

“Not all of them did this. Only some.”

She gazed at him as if savoring his eyes and face. “There is so much about you that I love.”

He felt the smile trying to tug at his own lips. Was it _wrong_ to smile, so soon after something so _terrible_ happening to him?

She tapped her finger against his lips. “What are you thinking about so earnestly?”

“What happiness is, where it can be found, and if it _should_ be.”

“Happiness is a split moment of lightness in the soul. Sometimes they're strung together, sometimes it's one moment every little while, but that tiny pulse in the heart is happiness. It can be found in between years of hell, some can be found, if you're looking, in the _middle_ of hell, and sometimes years of moments end up connecting to form a long, calm stretch of happiness. And always, Obi-Wan.” Her voice dropped to a murmur, “ _Always_ is it worth looking for and experiencing in the breath while it is here. Especially in the darkest days, a moment of relief is never _wrong._ ”

He stared down into those eyes, and realized...

_Until I decide to leave... I can stare into these eyes as long as we can._

The thought made his heart skip a beat.

 _There is no one to order me away now._ _I have no duties elsewhere._

_All I have that needs doing is healing, and whatever I choose to pick up._

“Why are you so wise?” he whispered back.

She feigned consideration for a moment before a sly smile lit her eyes. “So that you will give me compliments. Clearly.”  
“Clearly.” He dragged her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “Is that a job offer? Royal Complimenter?”  
Her eyes darkened.

Oh. He'd done that murmur against the hand while staring its owner in the eye thing.

He would have backpedaled a week ago, chagrined he'd used one of his weapons on the woman he loved as if she were one of the politicians he worked to manipulate into doing what he needed in order to keep himself and his men alive.

“I might have to invent such a position,” she purred back.

That sent blood to his face, mildly shocked by the way she'd formed the words.

A little laugh escaped her, something suspiciously akin to a _giggle_ , and she swept on down the hall.

“Are you going to stand there all night, darling, or are you going to follow me?”  
He tried to swallow away his trepidation and _understand_ his excitement all in one as his feet moved to obey her call.

_Her people could be my people, if I chose._

The thought both frightened and attracted him.

_But for now, all that matters is Satine._

He sped up to not lose sight of the swirling blue dress.

_And never, never has it ever been that way before. I haven't had the luxury._

Perhaps... perhaps his torture and defeat hadn't taken _everything,_ then.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

In the end, Satine had to gently pry him away from the flimsiplast sheets spread around on the floor as he madly scribbled down ideas, plans, and logistics for Unification Day.

“We need sleep,” she promised.

It fed her hope that his reluctance to agree wasn't founded in fear, but in focus.

At last he succumbed, barely able to hold his eyelids open against exhaustion.

_You've done far more today than I thought you'd be able to. You're still recovering from massive injuries._

Bacta could only do so much.

She drew the covers over his shoulder, amused as she realized he'd already slipped into sleep. Secure in that knowledge, she pressed a feather-light kiss to his temple, then lay down herself.

_One of these days, Kryze, you're going to have to go back to your own room._

She didn't much care for the idea.

_Unless he comes with me._

 

* * *

 

It wasn't her room she was forced to return to.

She turned, saw the stricken look in both human and cybernetic eye as he understood what the wounded messenger had said.

“I have to go,” she murmured.

He gave a grim nod, with the look of a man about to sign his own death warrant. “Let me come with you.”  
“You haven't fully healed yet, and we don't know if you'll be able to function in combat yet. You might freeze, or tune out our communications.”

“Satine, I  _cannot_ be the consort who gets left behind, wondering if their other is going to come home.”

Her breath caught.  _Consort?_ He just...  _threw_ that word out there...

She stepped closer to him. “Obi, have you not suffered enough for my people?”

“Don't make me sit here and wonder every second if  _this is the moment_ I lose you.” His voice broke. “Please, don't.”

She gave a nod. “Alright. Back in the saddle, then. But you're going to be in beskar'gam, you're going to  _stick_ by my side, and if you stop listening to my voice in the heat of battle, I will leave you locked in the dungeon next time instead of coming with me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Done, then. Aramis, find Kenobi armor that fits.”

“I don't— I don't have a lightsaber anymore.”

“I can offer you a warblade or blasters. I would suggest the blasters until you've had a chance to become familiar with how a blade will not deflect blaster bolts quite like you're used to.”

He nodded.

They prepared together, latching one another's armor in place. Obi-Wan's face was deathly pale, his fingers just a little unsteady.

Satine gripped his shoulder tight as the last minutes neared. “You can still stay behind, or stay with the medics to help them once we get there. Once battle has been joined, you won't be able to retreat. But up until that point, you give the word, and you sit this one out, no questions asked, no stains on your honor.”

“I have very little of  _that_ left.”

“Honor isn't something that can be taken from you. It's only something you can give up.” She pulled her helmet on, helped him with his, then dragged his forehead to lightly clunk against her own. “We can do this, Darling.”

He managed a weak nod.

On the way out Anakin intercepted them.

Obi-Wan froze behind her, but the Jedi didn't seem to recognize him.

“I want to help.”

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan's heart thundered in his throat. If Anakin figured this  _out—_

_He would binder me to the closest support pole and leave me behind._

“And what of Obi-Wan?” Satine asked without looking at the former Jedi.

Anakin shook his head. “We beat them back from Sundari's edge, and we won't have to worry about them getting to him.”

_He doesn't— he doesn't know it's me._

Obi-Wan felt his muscles relax and the shaking in his hands still.  _To him, to all of them, I'm just another Mandalorian here to fight for Mandalore. I'm not a former Jedi. No one is looking at me._

_I may not_ like  _to, but I can shoot_ well.  _Not quite as well as Satine, but damn well._

_I want to help these people. If she goes down in battle, I want to_ be there  _with her._

_And if I'm going to die, I'd rather it be by her side than anywhere else._

He still feared he might freeze when the sounds of battle hit, but an eerie calm descended on him for the moment.

He kept by Satine's side, discovering that war was very different when  _you_ weren't the one giving orders.

_I'm not the one having to invent strategy on the go._

And dear  _Force_ but wasn't that a relief.

And perhaps it was unseemly for a man who had once been a Jedi to think it, but...

Satine was glorious in battle. Beautiful, breathtaking—

Looking at himself, Obi-Wan decided he fought more like a scrapper.  _ Any grace I had is gone. _

But he  _ was  _ effective, so at least there was that.

It felt strange to see Anakin leap into the fray and know he couldn't follow. To see Force-aided jumps, to see Mandalorians go flying when he flung out his hand, to see his saber dart in and out.

Stranger still to not feel Anakin in his mind.

_ I can't rescue him anymore. _

_He's going to have to rescue himself._

“Did you train him well?” Satine asked in his ear.

He swallowed. She must have seen him watching Anakin. “I gave him what I could.”

“Then trust in him. I'm going to take the ridge. Do you have my back?”  
He turned his head to meet her gaze. “Yes.”

“Let's do this.”

And they did.

 

* * *

 

When Obi-Wan set foot inside the palace, he wasn't quite sure he would make it back to his medical room.

The shaking had set in again, he felt slightly nauseous, and there was blood on his borrowed armor. He wasn't entirely sure it wasn't his own.

He followed Satine to the medical room, stood blankly as Satine edged him out of the beskar'gam, then roused enough to help her out of hers.

The familiar sounds of medics assisting wounded men— none of them Jedi or clones...

Familiar, but so foreign.

While they awaited their turn, Satine checked them both over for broken bones and other injuries.

Their limbs seemed whole.

Obi-Wan couldn't say as much about the place where metal shoulder joined with flesh. His exertions had broken the seal between the two, producing most— if not all— the blood on the armor.

Satine released the seal of his body glove, helping him peel his arm out of it. He grit his teeth, tucked his chin, and endured the pain it caused.

He remembered the day Anakin had insisted on attempting pullups from the door frame without anyone knowing he would try such a stunt, long before the doctors had cleared him for it.

While Obi-Wan couldn't see the back of his own shoulder, he  _ did  _ remember what Anakin's arm had looked like when he returned to find his Padawan curled on the floor in agony and weeping with frustration and grief.

“You fought well today. A wildcat in armor,” Satine murmured.

He made a grim parody of a smile. It hadn't meant to be false, he'd been trying for genuine. Instead of answering, he inspected the cut she'd gained between the joint of bicep and elbow armor.

“ _ Obi-Wan? _ ”

He stiffened, startled—

_ Of course I didn't sense his approach. I can't anymore. _

He didn't look around.

“The _hell_? You were _out there?_ What were you _thinking_? Medic— medic! Over here.”

Obi-Wan pulled away from him. “No. We'll wait our turn.”

“Frip that. Satine, did you know he was going to do this?”

She sent him an inscrutable glance before focusing on searching Obi-Wan for injuries again. “When I asked you, you didn't seem concerned, so long as we won. We  _won._ ”

“I didn't know he was  _with you_ ! You  _deceived_ me!”

Those hands were _reaching_ for him again.

Obi-Wan slipped away from them, to stand, cradling his arm so it wouldn't pull his shoulder. “I don't see how it's any business of yours. I'm not part of your army. I'm not even part of your Order. You have no say in what I do anymore.”

“ _Banthakark,_ ” Anakin snapped back.

“I volunteered my services to the Duchess of Mandalore. I took orders from her in this battle, and her alone.”  
Anakin looked slapped in the face. “You... what? No, Obi-Wan, you're supposed to be a  _General._ In  _charge._ ”

“I didn't want to be. I was where I needed to be, and I certainly wasn't holding  _you_ back from being where  _you_ thought you wanted to be. Leave me alone now, please.”  
“ _I'm_ not cut off from the Force!” Anakin protested.

Grief, terrible and howling tore through him at the reminder. “I can assure you,” he whispered, “Not a second goes by where I  _forget_ that.”

“I didn't mean it that way.” Anakin's voice dropped low, gentle and pleading now.

Obi-Wan couldn't meet his gaze. “You had your chance to make decisions for me while I couldn't speak for myself. You did a kriff poor job of that. I don't want you making  _any_ more decisions for me. I don't wish you harm, but I don't want you here,  _now._ I want to be alone with my Liege to patch each other up and  _rest_ after the battle.”

For a long moment Anakin stood there, apparently too shocked to come up with anything to say, and then he turned and walked away.

Obi-Wan eased himself back down to the cot feeling guilty for his words...

_But they're true._

And maybe it was time people be  _honest_ with Anakin instead of tiptoeing for fear of hurting his feelings.

 

* * *

 

Satine chose not to speak up, though her heart ached for them both.

Anakin wanted so desperately to keep Obi-Wan from being hurt  _more,_ and Obi-Wan felt so betrayed...

_But you will need him, before the end,_ she thought as she squeezed Obi-Wan's unhurt shoulder. 

The former Jedi heaved out a sigh.

From where she stood, Satine could see Anakin submitting to a medic, watching his former master with grief-stricken eyes.

“He blames himself, you know,” Satine murmured, “for what my people did to you. Can you imagine what that must feel like? To see someone you love so much so scarred and different, and to think you were the cause?”

He glanced over his shoulder in Anakin's direction, and the young Jedi's gaze skittered away.

“Do you suppose it would feel the same or worse if it was Ahsoka instead of you? And just how would this look if you stood in my place, trying to help Ahsoka heal, watching Anakin from afar?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“You're trying to make me feel pity for him,” Obi-Wan murmured, unable to look away from his drooping former Padawan.

“Would it be so wrong to find some compassion for him? Is forgiveness such an ugly thing?”

Obi-Wan remained silent.

“What does it feel like, to suddenly have your master's Force presence torn from your mind?”

Obi-Wan cringed.

“I mean, certainly. He can see you sitting here, so he knows that the sensation is false. But how much of a comfort is it, when he thinks you hate him?”

A near-silent oath escaped him and Obi-Wan lurched up to his feet, moving at a fast walk to intercept Anakin.

The boy looked up, alarm spilling across his face, and tried to bolt, but the medic refused to let go of his foot, so he ended up sitting on the bed again, pale and miserable.

 

* * *

 

“Why?” Obi-Wan demanded. “Why would you think I would want to live without the Force and without my body? What did you think would be  _left_ ?”

Anakin's eyes filled with tears. “Anything,” he whispered.

Obi-Wan frowned at him. “What the  _frip_ is that supposed to mean?”

“I need you. So if there was anything left of you, even just a shadow, I had to  _save_ it.” He dropped his head, voice rasping as he confessed, “You survived losing Qui-Gon, but I'm not strong like you. I can't do this without you, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan's heart was hurting again, that strange, twisted ache that made him wonder if grief could make  _its_ flesh and metal separate too. 

Wouldn't that be something. To die from an  _actual_ broken heart.

“I'm sorry, I hate that you're suffering so much, but I'm not sorry I saved you.” Anakin ducked his head, forehead scrunching as silent tears escaped. “I can't lose you too.”

 

* * *

 

Satine saw Obi-Wan seem to deflate, saw the anger drain away from him. He placed a hand on Anakin's shoulder and squeezed, then walked back to Satine.

He remained quiet throughout the rest of the evening, following her back to his room without offering up any attempt at conversation.

It was as he tried to fall asleep that the pain really set in.

His first real exertions after the remaking of so much of his body was bound come at a high price, and Satine found herself soothing him most of the night as he tried to sleep, only to have to shift position  _again_ in the vain hope that some of the pain would ease.

The meds she administered didn't seem to help much, which made Satine wonder how much of the pain was physical, and how much was his body suddenly remembering it had the right to visit phantom pain on the mind it carried.

There was something so fripping familiar about sitting by his side, staring into his eyes as he looked up at her, face lined in suffering, as he tried to just wait out his body's pain.

_Someday. Perhaps someday we'll be able to sit together without you struggling through something terrible._

_Until then, I'm here, Obi._

_I'm here._

Cold metal fingers found hers, squeezing her hand before falling limp against the bed again.

 

* * *

 

He needed to find him. Yes, it seemed like Obi-Wan didn't hate him anymore, if that shoulder squeeze had meant anything, but Anakin needed forgiveness, needed it in the worst way.

He was finding it difficult to function without it.

He knew that in theory the Duchess would have a private garden, but it took him a while to find it.

When he did, he was unprepared for what he found.

They stood together, Obi-Wan's hand resting on Satine's hip, his lips pressing careful kisses across her face as if he was trying to touch every inch of skin.

Anakin backpedaled, shocked, and with a few other uncomfortable emotions boiling through his blood.

He wanted Obi-Wan happy. He  _did._

But Obi-Wan's conscience had always been such an integral part of the man. He believed in his Code and the choices he made to hold to it. To see him  _without_ that Code hurt, just a little.

_He didn't give it up by choice. It would be different if he chose to leave._

“That's it,” Satine encouraged. “Improvement already.”  
“You're sure the metal isn't unpleasant? Cold?”

“It's unusually cool, but  _that_ is all the rage these days. Young adult holonovels with dashing Anzati heroes and their pulseless pallor.”

“And how would you know of such things?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice almost teasing.

Tears sprang to Anakin's eyes. A playful tone, a tone that for a moment forgot all he'd passed through—

_Thank the Force._

_And please, please let it last. I know I've done terrible things, behind his back and even to him, and I_ don't  _count saving his life as one of them, but please don't take it out on him._

Bargaining. Hadn't he heard it was one of the stages of grief?

He didn't like the idea that he might be grieving a man who was  _still here._

“My fingers aren't too tight?”  
“No, Obi-Wan. You didn't shatter the glass I handed you earlier, you're not bruising me now. I will speak up if there's a problem.”  
“I feel so clumsy. I haven't lacked this much coordination since my early teenage years.”

“It will come back. I know you do not think you have any grace anymore, but you are beautiful, my Obi-Wan.”

“Yours?”

_I should not be here,_ Anakin knew.  _I should have left already—_

“I  _could_ be yours now,” Obi-Wan whispered.

“How does that thought make you feel?”

“It frightens me. But I'm drawn to it.”

Shame filled Anakin.  _I need to go._

“But how can I hope to navigate anything when I can't even master a  _drinking straw_ ?”

“Ready to try again? It felt like you were making the shape correctly on my face those last few tries.”

Understanding dawned.

_I wonder whose idea that was. To turn relearning a simple skill into something intimate._

_Probably Satine._

He slunk away, feeling like a thief, but at least he was a hopeful one now.

_He might make it._

_He just might make it._

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the editing for this chapter is a bit rough, there's a good reason this time. Had a fugitive lurking in our area, and had cops all over the place. The family wanted me to come home with them so we would all be together, so my cat wasn't helping with the edits.
> 
> Anyway. I helped them clear the house, then settled in to watch. My brother helped. He's still young enough to think this is exciting. The search has moved past us now, but we're still being careful. Thankfully my parents have a comfortable couch.
> 
> Hope that all of you are safe out there, wherever you are. Let's keep the danger inside the fanfics, if at all possible.

 

Obi-Wan brushed a ginger hand over the skin left on his scalp. “You're sure they don't know if it will grow again?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“No.” Obi-Wan sighed. “I don't know which is worse. _Half_ a head of hair, or none at all.”

Satine smirked. “There is  _one_ upside to not having it grow back at all: you'd have the perfect excuse to completely  _ignore_ the quite frankly terrible mens' hairstyles all the rage just now.”

Obi-Wan sent her an unconvinced  _look._

“If they're so terrible, aren't you in need of a con— of someone in a visible place to wear hair to your liking so the trends could be reset?” He felt the heat in his face and his gaze fell away.

He tried very hard not to flinch when Satine sat beside him on the couch.

“It's alright to simply be here, Obi-Wan. You do not have to identify with Mandalore.”  
Obi-Wan stared down at his hands. “I have nowhere else to go.”

“That's not true. You have options, darling. Whether you want to be here with me or on your own, I would grant you asylum. I know Padmé would grant you the same for Naboo, and Bail on Alderaan. If you wanted to teach, I know of three different Alderaanian universities that would love to claim you, and Mandalore is still seeking teachers. You could be a groundskeeper on Naboo, or a trail guide, or a  _pilot_ .”

The jab had him sending her a dirty scowl.

“I know you think you have very little to offer anymore except for war, but that's not true.”

Obi-Wan had to wait a moment before he found the courage to murmur, “I want  _you._ ”

“Darling, whatever you choose to try out as an occupation, I won't be leaving you. You don't have to become a warrior in my command in order to have me. I will not cage you. Whatever you decide, we'll work something out. Haven't we for the last two decades?”

“No.” Well,  _yes_ , but what  _she'd_ said wasn't what he was saying  _no_ to. “I mean, I know you say I haven't lost you. But even when you're in the room, I  _miss_ you.” It hurt so  _much,_ it made his soul ache. “I can't  _sense_ you anymore. The closeness I had with you, it's been cut in half. I used to feel  _whole_ and now I feel like I should be able to just keep going, but I don't have easy access into your soul anymore.”

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, her hand reaching out to squeeze his.

“I'm reduced to  _words,_ and  _touches,_ and I can't— it's not the  _same,_ it's not  _enough_ , it's claustrophobic.”

He'd never understood why Anakin would choose sex over a Force-enhanced exploring of another's soul, but...

_At least if_ his  _connection to the Force was torn away, he'd have something left._

Poor consolation prize. To try by frantic effort to reach a oneness of mind and body that could only be maintained for a short time before losing it again?

There was a reason why it was a rare occasion to find a Jedi who bothered with sex even though there was no rule against it. Why choose a pixelated, grainy image that faltered when the same holo could be seen in stunning color and detail?

“Darling, you do realize that all most of the universe  _has_ is sex, and hugs, and words. We can't pour our feelings into someone else, we have to try to explain it.”

He huffed. “ _Yes,_ I know that.”

“So perhaps it's time to give words a chance.”

“ _Satine,_ ” he groaned. “What is the point in  _having_ choices if you  _want_ none of them? I don't want to go to Alderaan or Naboo. I don't want to stay here.  _None_ of this was my choice and everything feels like I'm supposed to pick something else and act as if it was what I wanted all along.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her nod. “Then perhaps don't pick what you want. Pick what you would prefer.”

“I don't understand.” Obi-Wan frowned, feeling tired and  _done._

Satine moved to crouch in front of him, her hands on his knees so she could look him in the face. “You didn't choose a life away from the Order, but would you  _rather_ be a soldier, or a civilian? Would you  _rather_ live close to nature, or in a city? Would you  _rather_ we continue on as we have, or try to find words for what we have? You unconsciously used the word  _consort_ the other day, but you tripped on it just now.”

Could the floor swallow him up? Please?

“I didn't mean...”

She arched an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.

“We're not even dating. I would never dream of expecting you to ask me something so important.”

“Ah. But the question is, would you rather focus on what is gone, or figure out how you feel about the fact that we kiss now? That  _is_ what this is about, isn't it? Something has shifted, and you're not sure if you like it.”

His heart skipped a beat. “What? No, it's  _good,_ Satine.”

“But it's not what you chose for your life.”  
“You didn't force me.”  
Satine chuckled. “I know.”

Mortified, he tried to turn away, but she tapped his knees with her fingers, so he paused.

“Darling, it's alright to feel discontent.”

_That_ dragged his eyes to meet hers again. “What?”

“Can you imagine if half of my soul simply was no longer accessible to me? Do you think I  _wouldn't_ chafe at the bit? You are doing so  _amazingly,_ Obi-Wan. What if instead of it being the Force that was taken from you, it was everything else? Your friends, your family, the Order, Anakin, Ahsoka, the clones, the Republic, the comforting presence of the Light— do you think that fate would be easier to bear than this one?”

“But that  _is_ this fate!”

“Is it? The Republic stands, your friends live, and can you  _not_ see the Light in smiles of the young, in the leaves of the trees, hear it in birds' songs? There was a time in the past when the Light was nearly blotted out, when the Jedi were massacred, when the Sith ruled the galaxy. Darling, you have been dealt a terrible blow, but there still hope for the large scale picture.”

“The fact that Yoda  _lives_ should outweigh the fact that he  _abandoned_ me?”

“Would you rather be abandoned and have him  _dead_ ?”

The thought sent a shudder down Obi-Wan's back.

No. Force,  _no._

But it would be so easy to have  _happen. He sleeps as little as any of us, and he struggles to save his men to the detriment of himself just like the rest. He has one of the biggest targets on his back there has ever_ been,  _and his age_ is  _catching up to him._

Just a split second of inattention, one moment of betrayal from an unexpected source—

A hiss of air escaped Obi-Wan and his eyes stung.

And Anakin? Obi-Wan still wasn't sure if he'd forgiven him, but forgiven or not, Satine had one hell of a point, Anakin was  _alive._

_And..._

_And it wasn't him who was lured to that farmhouse. It was me._

The thought of Anakin writhing on the ground, of  _Obi-Wan_ having to make the decision Anakin was forced to make, of Anakin, so bright, so light, so  _beautiful_ in the Force being cut off from it—

He placed metal fingers over Satine's, the movement hesitant. “I hate where I am and what I've become. I just want to go back to the way everything was.”

“And yet,” she murmured, lacing their fingers together— what an  _odd_ sensation— “was there not hell there, too? In the weight of the lives in your care, in feeling the Force twist with the war, in people dying to protect you? Five days ago, were you happy, Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

_Not particularly._ “But it's worse  _now._ ”

“You cannot run away from it quite as easily now.”

“As far as preferences go, I do  _not_ want to be a pilot.”

“See? The way to combat no longer having a choice is to make choices about what you  _can_ control.”

“That doesn't sound right.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

She shrugged. “So the decision to  _not_ become a professional racer is meaningless to you? Perhaps we should find you a podracing contract, then.”

“You're simply trying to prove I care about something.”  
“Do you?”

He looked down at their connected hands. “Part of me wants to hold you. To... explore you. Without the Force, there is not enough connection with you; I  _need_ more.” He watched her eyes with wide, sad ones of his own. “But I'm afraid that it will just be a search for what has been lost and can never be regained, and I don't want to lose you  _entirely._ ”

“Darling, If you choose to heavy pet me and then decide you are quite done and never want to repeat the experiment, I think we can probably recover. There are those who do not believe a relationship can survive what we've already been through, but we've proven we are our own rule.”

His free hand came up to touch her cheek. “There are moments when I feel almost happy, when I almost think things are going to be alright after all, and then this empty  _horror_ hits again and nothing matters anymore.”

Satine kissed his palm, and the action sent strange flutters into his stomach.

“Your pace, dear one. We will walk at your pace.”

His eyes burned again, and he wished for tears to ease their pain. “I feel so terribly alone, even with you sitting  _right there_ where I can see you.”

“Come. I have an idea.” She sat down beside him again, then maneuvered him so he lay on the couch with his head in her lap. “Enough thinking for now. Just experience, warrior-heart.”

He felt her hand on his head, heard her voice murmur in song.

His shoulders shivered, his body shook with what should have been sobs but had no tears to go with them at the flood of memory that brought back.

So much loss. So much grief.

He clung to her and let it hurt.

After a time the pain eased, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

“Do we have to go anywhere?” he rasped.

She shook her head and kept singing.

So, unable to take care of himself for now, he turned the reins over to her once again.

Something familiar. Something safe. Something so utterly  _them_ that somehow it soothed as well as ached...

Obi-Wan Kenobi allowed himself to drift into sleep under her watchful care.

 

* * *

 

“Can I see him?” Ahsoka's eyes seemed impossibly large in her face, worried and sad in one.

Anakin tried to hide a wince. “Ahsoka... he's... very angry. If he refuses to see you, I need you to not end up hurt.”

“Why would he—? But doesn't he want to  _not_ be alone?”

Anakin sat down, his voice dropping quiet, “Seeing us reminds him of what he doesn't have anymore. He's painfully aware of everything he's lost, and he's... shy.”

“I would never hurt him,” Ahsoka swore.

Anakin nodded. “I know. But if you get to see him, I need you to  _not_ stare, or look surprised, or...” Tears filled his eyes. Before he knew to fend against them, sobs attacked him, leaving him curled over his knees, in such  _pain—_

Ahsoka sat beside him, a small arm moving to wrap around his shoulder.

“It's really bad, isn't it,” she whispered.

Anakin had to struggle to make his voice understandable through the tears, “I don't think it  _could_ be worse. You didn't see him, Ahsoka, so  _broken_ on the ground and in so much  _pain,_ his blood  _everywhere,_ and then they looked to  _me_ to ask if he should  _live or not—_ ”

A second arm joined the first, squeezing him tight.

“And I think I made the wrong call, Ahsoka. What if he's miserable for the  _rest of his life_ because I wasn't brave enough to— to tell them—”

“I know he's  _your_ master,” Ahsoka sniffled, “but I  _have_ to see him, Anakin. I don't think I can  _handle_ him not letting me— I— don't let him shut me out.  _Please._ ”

Anakin's hand came up to cradle her head against his. “I don't know that I have that power, Ahsoka. He's already shut me out. And I'm afraid he'll never let me back in. It feels like I've lost him.”

For a long minute they held one another, just trying to survive.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan was  _not_ prepared to face Anakin while he accompanied Satine to her appointment with the tailor. 

Fear spilled through his heart and he felt a severe temptation to run the other direction to avoid him. He edged closer to Satine, half ashamed that he positioned himself so that she was between him and his former Padawan.

Possibly former best friend.

“Ahsoka is here,” Anakin announced without preamble. “And she really needs to talk to you.”

Obi-Wan cringed. “Why?”

“Because her second master just one day didn't come home from battle, and she's afraid and misses you, and needs to have you hold her and tell her she's going to be okay.”

Obi-Wan stared at him.

“It's okay if you hate me. I understand it if you do. But please,  _she_ didn't do anything. And  _Force,_ she's so scared...”

Obi-Wan's heart broke. “Alright.” He could barely hear his own voice, so he gave a nod to make sure his answer was clear.

Relief spilled across Anakin's face and he nodded back, looking afraid that if he spoke, perhaps Obi-Wan would change his mind.

“If you can spare me?” Obi-Wan asked, looking to Satine.

She smiled, eyes tender. “I have been picking out my own dresses for a very long time now.”

Obi-Wan nodded.

Anakin turned to lead him to Ahsoka, and as Obi-Wan moved to follow, Satine laid a gentle hand on his arm.

“You'll be alright,” she whispered.

He needed to hear it. And though he wasn't quite sure he believed it, he took comfort from the words.

 

* * *

 

Anakin didn't accompany him into the room.

That was... probably best.

Obi-Wan was trying to forgive him, but he couldn't quite feel at ease in his presence. Wasn't entirely sure they were friends. Wasn't... just wasn't sure.

Ahsoka stood with her back to the door, and as it shut behind him, he saw her shiver.

“Hello,” he murmured, not sure what to say.

She flinched. Probably because of the slightly different sound of his voice now. Within, Obi-Wan cursed the rebuilt vocal cords and their slightly metallic rasp.

It took a long moment before Ahsoka replied, her voice unsteady, “I'm really sorry if I shouldn't be, but I'm really glad you're alive.”

Obi-Wan's heart melted. “It's alright. That's hardly  _wrong,_ young one.” 

“But it  _is,_ kind of. I should want you happy  _more._ ”

“Perhaps. But when my master's love died and the light went out of his eyes, I still needed him there.”

Ahsoka's shoulders drooped. Obi-Wan couldn't tell if it was relief or grief or disappointment—  _damn_ being Force blind and deaf—

“I had to see you,” she whispered. “I couldn't just stay at the Temple. Master Plo pulled strings to get me transport here. It's complicated to get a flight from the Republic to Mandalore these days.”

_At least she still has Plo to look after her._

Plo. Part of the Council that disowned him.

And yet...

_I know him. I know how kind he is, how earnest._

_I know he tries to do what is right and compassionate in any circumstance._

Had he resisted the decision, or had he agreed with it?

_If he agreed, it's because he thought it was somehow kinder._

Obi-Wan's gut rebelled against the idea.  _Better to be a_ butler  _in my home than have no home at all._

“Does it hurt now?” Ahsoka asked, voice wavering.

Obi-Wan searched for an answer. “Sometimes.”

She shifted from one foot to the other, still resolutely turned away.

“It's... it's alright to look. I won't break.” Though... he wasn't sure of it. “It's okay to stare at first, if you need to.”

It wouldn't have been, a few minutes ago, but this resolute looking away had touched him.

_She's still a child, though it's difficult to remember, and will be for another two years._

Her voice, when it came, was little more than a whisper. “I saw the report.”

There was a  _report_ ? A sudden chill fell over Obi-Wan as he envisioned the sterile words, the grim, emotionless recounting of what had been done to him.

Anakin would have had to write it. There was no one else to.

Writing down every brutality that had been inflicted on his master.

It had been so difficult to write the report for Qui-Gon's death, with the pain so near, so fresh. That part of it hadn't taken very long to write, but  _Anakin's..._ would have been so much longer...

“I wasn't supposed to look, but I hacked into it. I'm afraid, Master.”

Obi-Wan's heart broke for her. “I'm still me. I'm still me, Padawan. You're still precious to me. I know I don't feel the same in the Force to you anymore, and for that I am sorry, but Ahsoka— I won't abandon you.”

He hadn't known that until right this minute, but the need to protect her was stronger than his own fear.  _I can't just drop out of her life._

She turned, the movement slow. She didn't lift her eyes until the last minute.

She was shaking.

Obi-Wan took the steps forward needed to reach her and wrapped her in a hug before she had a chance to actually look.

Though startled, she clung to him, her arms holding him tight as she cried into his neck. Obi-Wan held her and rocked, so thankful, so  _fripping thankful_ that this had happened to  _him_ and  _not her._

_It could have been you. Dear Force, it could have been you._

He tightened his grip.

A squeak escaped her.

“I'm sorry,” he blurted, letting go. “I'm still working on how hard to grip things without breaking or dropping them.”

She looked up into his face instinctively, then froze, breathing shallow. Her gaze took little darting movements away from his eyes to take in the rest of his frame.

Nothing but what could be seen above his collar was visible.

“You look really young,” she said, relaxing a little.

One chuckle escaped him. “Really?”  
“Yeah. Without the beard you look like Anakin.”

“If I take that as a compliment it will only serve to further inflate his ego,” Obi-Wan joked, but the mirth died as he remembered that he and Anakin weren't on joking terms anymore. He looked away, smile gone.

“He misses you, a  _lot._ ”

“I— I know, Ahsoka.”

She wouldn't stop trying to look him in the eye.  _Please stop._

“Please forgive him? He was just so scared. Even if he made a mistake, he was trying so hard.”

Obi-Wan tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. “I just— I need time, Ahsoka. I can't right now. I just... can't.”

Silence fell, awkward and painful.

“I would have thought I would be more comparable to Grievous,” Obi-Wan offered, trying to salvage the mess, but suspecting he was going to run away... very soon...

“What?  _No._ You don't look  _anything_ like Grievous.”

Obi-Wan managed to twist his lips into a faint smile.

“But you  _don't._ ”

And  _now_ he needed to leave. “I'm sorry,” he muttered, rushing for the door.

He felt vast relief when he realized she didn't chase him. Even more relieved when he didn't run into Anakin.

He slipped into a safer room, the tailor completely ignoring his entrance, and Satine simply giving him a quick glance and nod.

“Obi, darling, should I exchange this part of the pattern with silk instead, to change the texture, or alter the color instead?”

Obi-Wan moved to peer down at the holo designs being worked on. “Texture would be fine,” he offered, grateful to think of something  _else._ “Unless you had a specific color in mind, I would suggest changing up the fabric weight and feel before changing shade.”

The tailor sent him a surprised and appraising glance.

“Specific color in mind?” Satine echoed.

He nodded. “A message you wanted to send your people in the wake of the latest attack.”

Two sets of eyes narrowed in speculation, and then Satine and the tailor dove deep into a lengthy discussion of color messages.

Obi-Wan retreated to sit in an available chair in the corner, content to watch his duchess while he himself remained out of the spotlight.

_My duchess. I thought of her as my duchess._

“No, no, that will never do. I must be able to run, and if need be, kick someone's jaw.”

“But it's  _current fashion,_ your grace.”

“Irrelevant.”

He smiled to himself.

 

* * *

 

Some time later, head resting on Satine's lap, Obi-Wan gave a sigh.

“And you ran out?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

A hand moved up to smooth over his head. “I see.”

“I've had enough for today, Satine. I don't want to see anyone else I know.”

 

* * *

 

“Sir! General Kenobi!”

_No. No, no, no._

Not good. What was Cody even doing  _on planet_ ?

Obi-Wan bolted down a side-hall, even though that took him away from Satine's side. He didn't stop his flight until he found refuge in a small garden.

Until he saw Anakin sitting there.

Eyes going wide, Obi-Wan stumbled back out of  _there,_ trying to ignore Anakin's voice—

He headed back up to his room— there shouldn't be anyone  _there—_ and found Ahsoka hovering by the door.

Grateful he managed to back away before she saw him, Obi-Wan found a nook in one of the halls and sagged onto a bench.

_You can't run from them forever,_ a voice whispered inside him.

Since it didn't have Satine's voice, he decided he wasn't going to listen.

Slight movement at the corner of his eye had his head whipping up and around to peer into the alcove across from his own. He found a young man with blond hair and Satine's nose, trying to look as small as Obi-Wan was attempting to make  _himself._

The boy held a finger to his lips, a look of panic in his eyes.

Footsteps pounded down the hall, and a young woman in an academy uniform rushed past, golden hair streaming behind her.

Peering around the corner after her, the boy sagged in relief against the wall.

“Hiding?” Obi-Wan whispered.

An emphatic nod preceded the reply. “I mean, she's my friend, but... I can't face her right now.”

Obi-Wan tried not to look too surprised.

“Why? Do adults never have to hide from their friends?”

“I'm doing it right now,” Obi-Wan muttered.

It was the boy's turn to look surprised. “Well, kark. So you're saying this might  _not_ get better with me growing older.”

“I don't know. That might depend on the reason for hiding.”

“She wants to date me. I'm not sure I want to.”

“I don't understand.”  
The teen sighed. “I know. We've known each other our whole lives, and I love her— I  _do—_ I just don't... know that I want  _this._ But if I admit to doubt, that will make her feel like I don't want her, and I don't want to hurt her, and I just want things to go back to the way they were  _before._ ”

“Sometimes things can't.”

“Tell me about it.” A blond head thunked back against the wall with a groan. “I've never been  _interested_ that way, you know? I don't think romance is my thing. And I care about her too much to just...  _you know._ ”

“If you think you're aromantic, why don't you just tell her? I don't see how that could hurt her feelings. If you're not oriented compatibly, it's certainly not anyone's fault it won't work.”

The kid shrugged. “I don't know for sure.”  
“It's alright to say that. You don't have to have all the answers. You could tell her you think you might be, and that you need time to sort through it all.”  
“Hiding is easier.”

Obi-Wan found his mouth forming a tiny smile and felt shocked by it.

 

* * *

 

“Commander. I seem to have been deserted.”

The clone ripped off his helmet, a howling grief in his eyes. “Sir. How can I make this right if he won't let me apologize?”

“Make what right?”

“My place is by his side. I wasn't there. He ends up wounded and  _kicked out of the army._ ”

_Interesting that he attributes the greater tragedy to no longer being part of the GAR._ “He does not blame you, Trooper.”

“All due respect, but the General forgives even the Sith that slew his master. Sir.”

“That he does.” Satine smiled at the thought of the earnest heart the damaged body carried. “You are not the only one he has run from, Commander. He's currently hiding from just about everyone he knows. I hope you will recognize it is not from a personal distaste for yourself that he flees.”

Cody's shoulders sagged. “We respect General Skywalker, and we will serve under him as ordered, but General Kenobi was...  _more._ He was the heart and soul of the Two-Twelfth, and not a man among us doesn't miss him. I just... we need to know he's alright.”

“He isn't, Cody. But there is a chance he will be, someday.”

“Are you lying to make me feel better, Sir?”

“No, Trooper. As one warrior to another, your General's courage was hit pretty hard. He needs his squad.”

“Why doesn't he see that?”

“He's in pain. All he knows is that being near any of you makes the sting of it sharper.”

 

* * *

 

Satine wanted to tell Obi-Wan where she was headed that evening, but she couldn't find him. Silently grousing about his damn hiding skills, she left her comlink on, just in case he needed her.

_Please don't get your mind into too much trouble while I'm gone._

But she couldn't very well abandon Korkie now. If she dropped spending time with him when emergencies came along, they would never spend time together, and one dinner a week was all they had left.

She settled at the table, refusing to look as on edge as she felt.

“I met Uncle Ben today.”

The swift calculation Satine ran said that could only have happened  _after_ he disappeared. She leaned forward, elbow clunking onto the table as she forgot Duchess manners in favor of warrior ways. “Was he alright?”

“He seemed rattled about something. He was nice, though. Gave me some good advice.”

“Where did you leave him?”

“He left first. Saw Knight Skywalker approaching and bolted.”

Satine sighed. “I'll try searching for him again after dinner.”  
“When is the announcement? That he's your consort?”

“ _Korkie_ .”

“ _What_ ?”

She sent him a withering look. “I haven't asked him, and I  _won't be_ for some time. Right after a massive life change is  _not_ the time to ask for a life-long companionship commitment.”

“Maybe for  _other_ planets. But you're  _Mando._ ”

“He  _isn't._ ”

“Tell me one good reason why the two of you shouldn't find solace in each other with this trauma.”

“ _Korkie—_ ”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Korkie had left, mentioning he needed to not be late for dinner with his aunt.

Obi-Wan felt it a fairly decent guess to assume that was Satine.

He knew from prior visits where the blade armory was, and he chose to take refuge there next.

He ran his fingers over the flats of ancient warblades, seeing his reflection in some, and no reflection at all in those that had been painted black to keep from glinting in the moonlight.

Just days ago, to do this would be to feel the echoes of long-silenced screams, to feel a tingling of the pain inflicted throughout the ages by these instruments of war.

Now?

He couldn't hear a thing. All that was left was the beauty and durability of the craftsmanship, the truth you didn't need the Force to forge one, the knowledge that a Force-user likely never encountered the blade from the hilt end.

It took but an instant to close his fingers around one of those hilts.

It wasn't a pure cylinder, unlike a lightsaber. Instead, the cylinder was flattened and wrapped in leather.

While an ignited saber's blade was not weightless, the vast majority of its weight still lay in its hilt. He tested the balance of the black blade against his hand, discovered it to be balanced perfectly, the pommel countering the heft of the blade itself.

Holding it reminded him he had back muscles.

He'd chosen a hand-and-a-half sword, a “bastard” blade. Meant for dual-hand wielding, designed to shield the body with the sword itself instead of with a shield or buckler, it didn't have the monstrous size of a claymore, or the overgrown knife feel of a sword meant to be used with a shield.

Obi-Wan smiled as he realized there wasn't a single rapier in the room. Mandalorians despised fencing. The idea that only a hit scored by the tip should count made absolutely no sense in a battle setting, when a sword ending up trapped in an opponent's body or armor could mean death for the wielder.

No rules.

No courtesy.

No flourishes.

Simply efficiency.

To twirl  _this_ blade in the mesmerizing displays Jedi used to intimidate opponents would be a foolish waste of energy. With a durasteel blade, the game was to wear out your enemy before they wore  _you_ out. No fancy lunges that could strain your knees.

So much taught in the saber forms would be useless here.

Obi-Wan shifted into a plow guard, hilt by his back foot's hip, point aimed for an imaginary face. Every angle was quick to access from here.

Anakin always loved to open high, with the saber far from anything it was supposed to protect. Even soresu opened in such a way, something Satine would call an ox guard.

It didn't take much to switch. Obi-Wan was familiar with bladed weapons.

Again he realized that if Ahsoka had taken his place, she'd be trying to use a reverse grip on swords, or even more disastrously, knives.

Obi-Wan moved slow through a handful of guards and slashes before he replaced the sword and chose instead a dirk. Long, thin, devilishly sharp.

Often gripped backwards because it appeared menacing and because of the strength of a downward strike, most people who had actually  _fought_ with one knew such a grip to be limiting.

The downward strike was about its  _only_ strength.

They had holodramas to thank for the widespread myths of blade combat. It always hurt to watch, because very little of it made any  _sense._ Characters who were supposed to know what they were doing made mistakes that rookies were wiped across the mat for.

_But I'm no rookie._

And apparently, losing everything hadn't meant  _everything._

As one of Satine's guards entered and drew two spar-knives from the wall, Obi-Wan held out his hand for one, offering and challenging in the same gesture.

And when, ten and a half seconds later, the man lay on his back with what would have been a slashed open throat, Obi-Wan found himself grateful for his insatiable need to learn everything he possibly could.

He was not helpless.

There were skills he'd kept.

And if you didn't have to leave your opponent alive, there was no need to drag out an engagement.

For the first moment in what felt like an eternity, Obi-Wan felt  _powerful._

“I only have time for a few more rounds,” the guardsman offered up. “Care for a rematch?”  
Obi-Wan lost only once, when he thought he caught sight of montrals around a corner. The split moment of distraction cost him, but the other rounds he won.

Obi-Wan remained long after the other man had left, claiming the blued sword he'd gone for before, testing his memory.

It had been long since he'd last had  _time_ to work on anything other than saber forms. Nothing since Naboo, really. Definitely not since the war.

“Obi-Wan.”

The once-Jedi froze, adrenaline dumping into his blood.  _No. Please no. Haven't I had a bad enough day without hallucinating too?_

“My brave Padawan.”  
Obi-Wan dropped the sword as if it had burned him, refusing to turn around to look. “Please, no.”

“I am sorry it has taken me so long to gather a form that you can see. I wanted to appear to you while they abused you, so you would know you were not alone, but I could not.”

“Go away.” Obi-Wan's voice sounded weak and wobbly in his own ears. “Please don't do this.”  _Let me keep my mind. Don't make me crazy too._

A sigh escaped the voice that sounded like Qui-Gon Jinn's. “I am not here to make your burden heavier, my precious child.”

Obi-Wan's eyes burned with the now-familiar threat of tears that would never come.

“I will not be able to keep this form long.”

Unable to help himself, Obi-Wan turned, the movement slow and tortured. When he found  _those_ eyes— if slightly see-through— watching him, he averted his gaze and cringed. “Don't look at me.”

“Why?”

“You revered life. Living things. I'm a droid now.”

Fingers reached out to brush down his cheek, and it was all Obi-Wan could do to not shy away from them. He couldn't feel the caress, and Qui-Gon looked grieved for it. “You still live, Obi-Wan. Is that not the source of your frustration?”

“If I'm lucky, this is the pain medication. If I'm not, I've lost my mind. And when have I ever been lucky?”

A wounded murmur escaped the phantom that looked like Qui-Gon. “I do not have long before you will be unable to see me again. So the question needs to be: does it matter if I exist, or if this is all in your head? If I say something that makes sense, if I offer you peace, should you reject it because it might have come from your own subconscious instead of your dead master's?”

Obi-Wan tried to swallow his heartsick grief. “You argue well for a wraith.”

“Why did you choose to not stay with Satine all those years ago?”

“Because I believe in my code.”

“Is it the same code you wish to live by now?”

“Like an Antarian Ranger? A Jedi in everything but the Force?”

“That is an option before you.”

Obi-Wan looked away. “I don't want to have anything to do with the Order.”

“Ah. You wish to become a pirate or assassin?”

“No.” Obi-Wan sent him a bit of a glare. The illusion was beginning to feel an awful lot like his master.

“Perhaps, then, you wish to be Mandalorian? Honor, pride, clan?”

Obi-Wan's answer flew out of his mouth, even though he hadn't realized it until right this minute. “No. I love Mandalore and its people, but no.”

“What do you believe in?”

“The rule of law over anarchy. That I have no desire to harm others unless I must to protect those who can't fight for themselves. That I can't just walk by, see an injustice, and do  _nothing_ .”

“And where do you want to be this person? You could be a law-abiding protector on any planet.”

And that answer seemed readily available too, surprising Obi-Wan with its simplicity. “Wherever Satine is.”

“Is that because you think you can't survive without her?”

“It's because I don't  _want_ to without her.”

“So I made a mistake in thinking you didn't want to survive at  _all_ ?”

_Damn you, but frip, you might be right._ “Why are you here?”

“To say one very simple thing.”

The pause lasted so long that Obi-Wan finally found the courage to look him in the face again. Once Qui-Gon had his full attention, the older man said, “To say this: I am proud of you.”

Obi-Wan's face blanched. “What are you _talking_ about? I raised Anakin, but I apparently couldn't teach him to _let go._ I also _failed_ in the most important battle of my life and my body is metal because of it, and I cannot stand the sight or thought of my family. So much for _anything_ you ever taught me!”

“That's not what I see. I see a man who has faced unspeakable odds and is still fighting to build a life for himself.”

“There  _is no life for me_ !”

“You outlined one to me. An advocate of whatever downtrodden castaways you find that need fighting for. A defender. A man who  _believes_ in his code— and it's not as new a one to you as you think it is, dear one— and who is willing to give the future a chance. Hope, my Obi-Wan. In spite of everything, you cling to hope. It is beautiful, it is brave. It makes me so proud to have been your master.”

Obi-Wan's breath hitched in his chest, a sob without tears that physically hurt. “They threw me out,” he whispered.

“You feel betrayed. When did this betrayal happen?”

“When they—”

“No.  _When_ ?”

Obi-Wan's shoulders sagged as he muttered, “In the past.”

“Obi-Wan, as long as you hold on to the past, you will be unable to explore your future.”

“I don't understand.”  
“Satine is here by your side, and I saw nothing in your new code that would prevent you from pursuing your romance with her in any direction you chose. I know you are angry, Padawan, but don't let your anger steal away something that could bring you so much joy.”

“ _This is not what you raised me for_ ! I was supposed to be a  _Jedi!_ ” Did he sound as piteous as he thought he did?

“And you were. A magnificent one, my Padawan. You saved lives, healed broken hearts, and raised a child in spite of tremendous obstacles. But that chapter is closed now, my Obi-Wan. Nothing lasts forever. Now it's time to save your life. Heal your broken heart. Allow the child you raised to raise someone else. Focus on your present instead of another's future.”

“I'm not ready.”

“Few ever are. I wasn't ready to leave you either. I know you think death would be the answer to silence your suffering, but I have lived it, and it has been hell to watch you shatter without being able to make you hear me.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head.

“Do you think the old are ready to give up being young? The diseased, ready to give up walking? The young martyrs, ready to give up life? The loved wife ready to become a widow? A father, ready to watch his child die in an accident? Terrible things happen to us, Obi-Wan. We cannot prevent them. We dodge some that strike others, and ones others have not had to bear, we suffer under. But life is only partly what happens  _to_ us. There is also what  _we_ do to  _life._ To ourselves, to others.”

“Master.” Obi-Wan found he couldn't deny the truth that lurked in Qui-Gon's words, but it  _hurt,_ it fripping  _hurt,_ and he wasn't sure it was  _enough._

“What is Satine, Obi-Wan?”

“I don't understand?”

He saw the fingers try to brush his cheek again, sighed at the loss of their touch.

“Tell me what she is, when all is said and done and everything else is long forgotten: what is she?”

Obi-Wan searched for a word. There were so many beautiful words that could apply.

“What does she share with every other sentient out there?”

“She is a sentient.”

“What does that make her worth?”

“Infinite value.”  
“If she were a child, you would be encouraging her to pursue her hopes and dreams. To find something beautiful, something that brought healing and hope to herself and others, and to pursue it with everything she had. What are her hopes and dreams worth now?”

“They're still priceless.”

“Obi-Wan, yours have been crushed. But there will come a day, eventually, when you find you have another dream. Another hope. You don't get just one, and never anything ever again. But to get to it, you have to endure this time of mourning for the last one. It's like a crystal. It will sing to your heart when the time is right. But until then, there are still things worth doing.”

“Satine wants to see her people safe. She wants it so badly.”

“Is that not a dream worth helping her achieve?”

Obi-Wan gave a small nod.

“And you, Obi-Wan? When you hold her in your arms, what do you want?” Qui-Gon interrupted Obi-Wan's responding head shake with, “No. It matters, Obi-Wan. If it does not go against the code you wish to live by now, if it would bring no harm to yourself or someone else,  _listen_ to it. For the last two years you've had to set aside everything you wanted in order to try to save lives. You have a moment's silence now, time to breathe.  _Use it._ The men you led into battle will not begrudge it to you. Rest, my Padawan.”

“There is still so much to be done. The Two-Twelfth, they'll  _die_ out there without me.”

“Are you the only person capable of doing a job well?”

“No.”

“Then focus on what is before you. This war is no longer your burden. Allow others to carry it, my son. Give yourself to what is before you in the way you want others to watch over the men you fought beside for so long. Everything is connected. You will help your clones best by helping the people directly in front of you, whether you can see the connection or not.”

Obi-Wan tried to swallow, found he couldn't. “You see me as your son?”

“Yes. I love you,” Qui-Gon whispered, voice thick with feeling as his form began to waver at the edges. “Never forget I am proud of you.”

“Please don't leave me,” Obi-Wan choked, reaching out to him—

“I've never left your side. Not once.”

The image faded, and Obi-Wan's breath carried away the last of its shape.

He leaned over, planting his hands on his knees, trying to breathe.

The dry burning of his eyes grew near intolerable.  _They gave me a fake dick. Why couldn't they give me fake tears that could relieve this pain?_

“Master,” he whimpered. “Father.”

 

* * *

 

Satine was fully prepared to peer into the recovery room, then settle into a long evening of find-the-NotConsort.

She found him waiting for her, on his feet, shoulders back, head up.

He hadn't looked so confident since he'd been cut down.

_That_ she was unprepared for.

Even the grim murk that had plagued him during the Clone War— the doubt that he was doing the right thing, even if it was the only thing his conscience could stand—  was gone from his eyes too.

She let the door slide shut behind her, staring him in the eye, speechless.

He met that gaze without a flinch, and it made her heart soar with hope.

 

* * *

 

“I want to date you. I want to wake up in the morning and see you there. I want to hold you as you fall asleep. I want to share your victories and defeats and sorrows and joys. I do not want to be a Mandalorian, but I do want to fight beside you to save your people, whether that be in your relief efforts, your civil war, or your politics. I know what I want. I want you, in any way you'll have me.”

Her eyes widened, and hunger seized her face. “ _Yes,_ ” she growled. “How I have _longed_ to hear you say that, you magnificent man.”

She moved fast. Launching forward, she dragged him into a crushing embrace, one he returned with equal fervor. He tucked his head into the side of her throat, inhaling and simply trembling there, in her arms.

Obi-Wan submitted when, after several long moments, she pushed them toward the bed. His heart thundered, he _still_ wasn't sure he was ready for sex _yet—_

But he found he shouldn't have feared.

Cuddled against one another, Satine pressed her forehead to Obi-Wan's own, the kiss slow and sweet. Obi-Wan relaxed into it, allowing sleep to claim him.

Their foreheads still rested against one another as they both gave in to rest.

And when he awoke in the early morning, he found their kiss unbroken, Satine's expression still gentled in sleep.

He scooted closer, in spite of having to move his head a bit, put his arm around her to hold her close, closed his eyes, and edged back into slumber once more.

There would be other kisses.

For now, he needed to feel how _alive_ she was, hear the sound of her heartbeat, and find the cold chased away by her solid warmth.

It had been years since he'd seen her sleep this solidly.

It was a sign of trust, though one he suspected she could not control.

_In spite of everything, she's trusting me to watch our backs._

Bewildered by her faith in a man who had  _lost_ so recent a battle and her apparent comfort in snuggling against unyielding metal, Obi-Wan chose to accept both as facts, stop worrying about whether they  _should_ be or not, and allowed sleep to claim him once more.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

Obi-Wan lunged awake with a scream, the nightmare too close, too real.

Satine startled out of sleep beside him.

He gripped her hand tight in his own as he woke up the rest of the way,  _promising_ himself it was over, he was safe—

Satine's other hand came up to rub his shoulder, garbled words slurring out of her mouth.

Something along the lines of  _I've got you_ and various endearments. Obi-Wan heard her forget and call him  _jetii,_ but mingled up in the instinctive crooning was a new word as well:

_Riduur_.

It kicked the last of the fear clean out of him as he sat staring down at her, mesmerized by her bleary eyes and tangled hair.

_She called me her mate._

Obi-Wan leaned over her and pressed his forehead to hers,  _just because he could_ , and felt his heart stutter. She pressed up into the kiss with a happy rumble.

_She looks adorable like this._ He wanted to whisper so, but bit his tongue.

“What are you thinking?” she mumbled.

He smiled at her struggle to wake up. “Something truly terrible.”

Her eyes snapped open and she scooched backwards and up, away from his kiss so she could inspect his face. “ _No,_ ” she hissed.

“I'm afraid so.” He didn't try to hide his smile, one that wanted to turn into a grin— when was the last time he'd grinned?

She scowled, storming into the refresher to check in the mirror. “I don't see it.”

“I didn't  _say_ you were.”

She held on to the doorjamb to swing out and glare at him. “You better  _not_ . And if you  _do,_ ” she threatened.

He held his hands up. “Would I be so foolish? To intentionally alienate you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You're  _thinking_ it,” she accused.

“It's  _hardly_ my fault.” He put on his best innocent expression.

She growled in her throat, sweeping for the outer door, looking mad as hell.

“Where are you going?”

“To get blood on my face, or something. Anything to  _fix_ this.”

“You do realize the rest of the galaxy thinks  _cute_ is a compliment—” He reared back as she was suddenly in his space, a finger in his face.

“Do.  _Not._ ”

He smirked. “What have I done?”

“You  _know better._ You lived here for a  _year,_ and you  _know I hate that_ more than just about any _—_ ”

A very odd thought crossed his mind, an urge he'd quite frankly never had before, but she looked so  _peeved—_

She was still growling, but he wasn't hearing most of it, “ _Insult—_ ”

He leaned forward and wrapped his lips around her finger.

Satine's voice cut short, mid-rant, her eyebrow quirking up in the most astonished expression.

Feeling just a bit smug, he smiled as best as he could manage with her finger in his mouth, then tried to trace his tongue down the underside of the digit.

Satine's lips parted as she dragged in a not-quite-steady breath. “Darling—”

He tried swishing his tongue around her finger, never once losing contact as he applied pressure to offer a sucking sensation, drawing it deeper, deeper—

“You  _do_ realize I don't have a pel kad, don't you, sweetheart?”

He let go of the finger to squint at her. “ _Soft sword_ ? Is that really what you call it? And if it is, how have I gone twenty-something years without knowing this?”

“Well, the word for  _woman_ is a glorified word for  _sheathe,_ so one can't complain that it doesn't match. I  _would_ remind you, however, that it's not a word that would have naturally been used in our conversations.”

He stood, moving into her space while never once looking away from her eyes.

“You have a very nice tongue,” Satine offered with a smirk. “I might have to forgive you for thinking I'm  _cute_ .”

“A fleeting infidelity,” he whispered, liking the way her gaze latched onto his lips. “I swear it will never happen again until next time.”

“Perhaps I should keep that tongue busy so it doesn't have a chance to insult me again until after I've fully waken up.”  
“Perhaps you should.” He leaned in, offering his mouth to hers, submitting to the guidance of her lips and tongue, while keeping track of what she was doing to try it out later.

And oh—  _yes,_ this was quite enjoyable.

Satine chuckled. “Are you taking notes?” she whispered, pulling just a centimeter away to speak.

“Detailed ones.” He moved in closer again, unwilling lose the taste of her so soon.

A few second more, and then Satine pulled back again, eyes glittering. “What was the insult you leveled at me again?”

“I don't remember. I swear.”

“ _Well._ In  _that_ case.” Satine draped her arms over his shoulders, smirking into his eyes as she pressed a light peck to his lips. “Come on. Big day today!” And then she was halfway out the door.

He  _may_ have looked as dismayed as he  _felt_ , since he received a chuckle. “Work first, kisses later.”

 

* * *  
  


“Master. I know you're really worried about him, but you should have  _seen_ him. If they hadn't been using rubber training blades, he would have  _killed_ that guy several times over.”

“He's lost the  _Force,_ Ahsoka. I can't even imagine how crippling it must be.” Anakin stared out the window at the glass city sparkling in the sun. It looked far too cheerful given all the suffering it had seen.

Ahsoka touched his elbow, drawing his gaze back to her face as she moved to stand beside him. “Maybe... he can take care of himself.”

Anakin huffed in disbelief.

“I'm just _saying,_ Master. He would have won those fights, and the other guy was _good._ He's relearning the stuff he couldn't do right after the surgeries, and you _know_ he's a quick learner. Anything he has to compensate for, he'll figure out _how,_ and then learn the skills he needs to pull it off. He's managed alright all his life without _ever_ being able to do the feats you throw around on a daily basis. He'll out-clever anything that gets thrown at him now. Maybe... you could have a little faith in him.”

That _hurt._ “Of _course_ I have faith in him, Ahsoka! But to send him out there into the _real world,_ so crippled—?”  
“Most people don't have the ability to use the Force, Anakin. They live their lives just fine.” Ahsoka shook her head. “It must ache terribly to have known its touch and then have it taken away, and of course there will have to be readjustment, but it's not the end of him. He'll find a way to live.”  
Anakin hung his head, scuffing his boot against the base of the wall. “And what if he's out there in battle— like he _just was—_ and _forgets,_ and thinks he's safe because he doesn't feel a danger warning that isn't going to come and he gets hit by a bolt he has no idea is coming?”  
The hand moved to his shoulder.

“Master?”

He shivered at the voice that had dropped to a whisper.

“Most of the hundreds of Jedi who have died so far in this war died because of that. A bolt they missed because they were distracted, or exhausted, or just plain  _missed._ Anakin, you're just as in danger of that as he is, but I'm not demanding you never step out on a field of battle again. Please. He needs you to believe in him.”

“He doesn't need me at  _all._ ”

Ahsoka leaned her head against the shoulder she held. “Sometimes we do terrible things to the people we love because all we can see is ourselves. It takes a long time to forgive, but we never stop missing them.”

Anakin's heart leaped into his throat.

“How are you doing?” he whispered.

“I can't decide which hurts worst. That Barriss decided it was alright to destroy my name, and possibly hand me a death sentence, or that she decided it was alright to try to drive a wedge between me and the Order— My  _family—_ just because she'd come to hate them. It nearly worked, too. I almost gave up on us.”

Anakin leaned his head against hers, heart aching for her. “What changed your mind?”

“I realized she'd already taken so much from me. My ability to trust people. All the memories of my first love. My ability to walk down a street and  _not_ wonder if people remember me from the wanted posters. I decided I was done: I wasn't going to let her take anything more from me. Not you, not Obi-Wan, not Plo, not  _my home._ I was going to fight for what I had left. I wasn't going to let her take it all.”

“I would have loved you anyway, even if you had left.”

“I know. But you know? When I realized that even though I went to  _her,_ when I could go nowhere else, and I  _didn't know she was the killer..._ even though we were lovers... I thought I knew her better than I knew anyone else, and yet the whole time she was setting me up? It made me realize that it's possible to love someone and still have the sickening realization they've done something unspeakable. And it's possible to see all the evidence in the world,  _know_ something is true, and still feel like it couldn't be, because this  _couldn't happen to you_ . I know why the Council responded the way they did to me. They didn't have much choice.”

Anakin felt anger boiling up inside him. “They should have  _believed_ in you—”

“The way I believed in Barriss? You  _do realize_ that loving a person doesn't make them suddenly incapable of something terrible, even if you believe with all your heart they  _aren't_ capable? I  _knew_ she hated violence. I had no way of knowing she would turn that into a bomb that killed  _so many people,_ and almost even me.”

“But Ahsoka, even if you  _had_ done it, we should have taken care of it ourselves.  _Not_ gone to the Republic.”

“Because we have power we're out of reach of the law? Anakin, I  _know_ what it is to feel alone, and betrayed, and  _angry as hell._ But I don't blame them, because I don't see myself as better than everyone else out there. The families of the victims  _deserved_ to know the killer wouldn't strike again. They deserved closure. And you know what? You  _don't_ know me as well as Barriss did. And Obi-Wan and Plo know me even less. I'm saying they  _couldn't know._ They did what they had to, and I suspect their hearts broke as they did.”

Anakin shook his head. “It wouldn't matter to me if you killed a world, Ahsoka. I  _love you,_ and if you'd done something unspeakable, I would  _help you_ escape, reach a non-extradition world.”

Ahsoka sighed, as if her  _own_ heart might be breaking.

“I know,” she whispered at last. “It's a terrible feeling.”

His blood ran cold. “What?”  
“Why would it be good for my mind or body for me to escape such a thing  _without_ being held accountable? How could I grow as a person if I never faced my guilt? And if you aren't looking out for my well-being foremost... what  _would_ you be looking out for?”

“Keeping you out of a cage!” he retorted,  _angry_ now.

Ahsoka shook her head and squeezed him tight when he tried to pull away. “Master.  _Master._ Stop, please.”  
“ _Why_ ? I love you  _unconditionally,_ and I would do  _anything_ to  _keep you safe,_ and you act like it disappoints you.”

“It's okay to let a person face the consequences of their choices, Anakin. It's not a bad thing.”

“But you  _didn't,_ so maybe we can stop talking about it. The Council was  _wrong,_ Obi-Wan was  _wrong,_ Plo Koon was  _wrong,_ and I am not going to forgive any of them for it. And you shouldn't either.”

“Master, what if it had been you instead of me? On the run because of murders they claimed you'd committed? I know you wouldn't, it's terrible, but...  _how_ would I know? Really?”

Panic grabbed Anakin by the throat. If he opened his mouth, would his voice betray him? Would she  _find out—_ and she  _clearly_ wouldn't perjure herself to keep him from paying for the lives he'd stolen.

_They're already dead. How is wrecking my life going to help it?_

Terrified, mournful eyes,  _children's_ eyes, stared at him from his mind.

_Go away. I've done good things since, I've suffered to protect others, I'm a good person, I shouldn't have to suffer for one bad thing— I put_ really  _bad people behind bars, what good does it do the galaxy if I'm there_ myself _? All the lives I_ won't  _save if I'm stuck?_

“Anakin?”  
“Hmm?”  
“I love you.”

Lips pressed to his cheek, and then footsteps headed for the door.

He couldn't move.

“Be patient with Obi-Wan. You think I have a right to be angry with the Council. Maybe consider he has cause to be upset with you. Maybe grant him the grace you'd give me... and maybe find it in yourself to consider that maybe you need to give him some space. That maybe your hold on him has been too constricting, too controlling, and that he needs some room to grow. It's okay to love someone and still let them make their own decisions. Even if... sometimes... they're bad ones.”

As the door slid shut, Anakin managed to make his voice and feet work. “Ahsoka,” he murmured, remembering again her terrible loss.

But she was gone.

 

* * *

 

He was watching her.

Satine feigned a lack of knowledge of it, something warm glowing in her heart.

She'd never teased him so before, never intentionally roused his attention only to flit away.

It felt just a little delicious. He wore just the slightest air of injury, one that faded out into pure longing, eclipsed occasionally by near worship, then back to disgruntled chagrin.

Both her body and mind were in agreement as to how the evening should go.

_I swear I am not going to do_ anything  _unless he's made it verbally clear he's ready._

Perhaps she shouldn't have teased him. Had it been cheating?  _Should I have waited until his mind was ready, and only then made sexual advances?_

But...

_He did... he did start it. And he is not happy I put distance between us. If after a day of thinking it over he still says yes, isn't Yoda right?_ When  _do I decide he has the right of consent?_

At lunch he sat beside her, their knees brushing. She glanced over at him, feeling nervous for the first time in a  _very_ long while.

“Obi-Wan,” she murmured, poking a gloved finger at her sandwich, “I need you to do me a favor.”

His eyes gleamed.

_Oh, dear._

“Tell me,” he whispered back.

Did he know what he was doing with his lips to shape those words? She narrowed her eyes at him, commanding her gaze to find his eyes instead. Oh, he  _knew._ Bastard.

“I need you to think about what you want from this evening. I need you take a long walk this afternoon, go sightseeing or visit the stables or spar with my guards, or target practice, but I need you to spend the afternoon away from me and thinking about what you want.”

Disappointment entered his eyes and they sobered.

“You have been sending me signals that I'm very inclined to interpret in a certain way. But I don't want us to jump too far, too fast, unless your heart and mind are behind it, not just your hormones. You deserve that, and so do I.”

He gave a nod, though a slight blush touched his cheek.

Before he turned to go, he touched the back of her hand with his fingertips. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being so careful.” He gave a small, soul-deep smile. “It's one of the things I've always treasured about you.”

She found herself unable to keep from smiling back, feeling as if a sunbeam had taken up residence in her heart. “You are worth every second,” she whispered, pressing a faint kiss to his lips. “Whatever you choose about tonight.”

She didn't watch him leave, instead taking a resolute bite out of her sandwich. _Sex has never been a casual thing for him. Certainly his decision to break a path he's held to for thirty-eight years should be a choice in his time._

 

* * *

 

Satine headed back to her room, planning to change into nightclothes before returning to the space she shared with Obi-Wan. She was tired of sleeping in whatever she had with her at the time.

She found him standing in the middle of her room, expression grave.

Her pulse thundered in her throat as she held very still, allowing the door to close behind her.

“Your handmaiden let me in. She seemed shocked I asked, as if she assumed I belonged here and didn't need such permission.”

She was  _sharp_ and clever, one of the many reasons Satine liked her—

“I've thought about it.”

Satine gave a nod, not trusting herself to speak.

“I want to explore your body. And perhaps, if I find the courage, mine. If some form of sex were to happen, I would be alright with that, but for now I just want to hold you. See you. If it were to lead to something else, then it does. If it doesn't, I sleep in your arms. Would— are you— alright with— that?”

“Very much so,” Satine whispered, her smile widening until it formed a grin. “And I won't touch you unless you find yourself comfortable with the idea.”

He gave a nod. “We'll see. I want to be that brave.”

“It's alright to go slow, darling. There is no goal line, no checklist to mark off. There is just you and me and however we choose to share ourselves.”

“May I help undress you?”

Satine gave a nod. “Certainly. I start with the headdress.”

“Show me how?” He moved to her, face beautiful in its longing and focus.

She guided him to the vanity mirror, pointed out the pins holding the flowers in her hair.

It took him a bit to figure out how to make his fingers work in conjunction with the pins, but he gave it all his attention, forehead furrowed in the sweetest little frown of focus.

A smile escaped him as he slipped the first pin free without tugging her hair.

She watched him in the mirror, feeling unbelievably  _lucky_ that  _this man_ was  _here,_ with  _her,_ and wanted to stand by her side to face the future.

He drew each flower from her hair with infinite care so he wouldn't crush the blossoms, then trimmed their ends as she directed, and slipped them into the short vase of water waiting for them.

He lifted the crown off her head, placing it on the vanity, and then just  _stared_ at the hair that tumbled free around her shoulders in spite of its tangled wreck.

_Oh, you are madly in love, aren't you, my precious one?_ She reached for her brush and comb, only to be stayed by a whispered, “May I?”

“Certainly.”

His first touches to her hair were reverent, but the delicate touch eased back into something more useful as he remembered how from the days when his own hair was long.

_Never quite long enough._

When finished he tied it back in a loose tail without asking first. Satine found she  _liked_ that.

_You are not helpless here._

He unclasped the necklace from her throat, the bracelet from her arm.

“We'll work on the dress next. You will be able to manage the buttons easier without the gloves.” She stood and turned to him as she spoke.

He froze, looking down at his hidden hands. “Won't it— won't it ruin the mood?”

“You forget that we see our armor as our true skin, intimate. If we could find a way to make love with our full armor on, we would. Our dearest kisses revolve around our heads being encased in helmets, so no, darling. I do not find metal to be an impediment.”

He searched her eyes for a long moment before pulling the gloves from his hands. He looked down at them, eyes dimming in grief.

Satine lifted one of his hands in hers. “May I?”

He gave a confused nod mingled in a shrug.

She pressed a kiss to the back of it, then the palm, then the pad of each finger. Sending him a smile, she whispered, “Buttons?” and turned her back to him again, pulling her hair over her shoulder and out of his way.

Hesitant fingers fumbled with the first button, but Obi-Wan's embarrassment faded as focus became required to make the buttons function.

Five down he began to get the hang of it, the rest swift following.

He helped peel her out of it, gaze so sharp, watching so closely. It made her feel like the most priceless creature on Mandalore.

She guided his hands to the laces binding her corset.

His hands hesitated there. “Are you alright?” he whispered, lips so close to her ear but  _concerned_ —

“Very well, Obi-Wan,” she breathed back. “And you?”

“Can we just stay like this for a while?”

“Certainly.”

She caught his hand, drew him to the bed. Laying down on her back, she smiled up at him.

He looked back, calm, but with a little furrow between his eyebrows.

He moved to kneel on the bed, eyes still locked on hers.

“It's alright to look,” Satine murmured, reaching up to touch his cheek. “And it's alright to touch, if you want.”

He gave a nod, leaned into her palm, then moved to reach for her feet. He slipped the heels off, then socks. He placed each foot back on the bed with great care, as if they might shatter on impact.

Drawing in a breath, Obi-Wan reached out to touch one bare shin, then glided his palm up it to her knee. He leaned closer, frowning. “You do have the scar from when I dropped you.”

Satine chuckled. “I keep all my scars.”  
He leaned forward, pressed a tender kiss to the mark.

“You were beautiful then, and you are beautiful now,” Satine said, and she could see he felt the weight of her belief. He shivered, glanced up at her face again, his own drawn in doubt.

She sat up to lean her forehead against his. He relaxed into the kiss, some of the tension melting from his shoulders.

Satine rested there for a long moment, heart feeling at  _home._ “You are perfect.”

“Am I?” His hand, still resting on her knee, edged up, just a little, to her lower thigh.

She smiled, tipping her head to offer her lips to his. “I think I have pretty solid taste in men.”

He nudged his mouth against hers, tongue lightly brushing her own. The cadence of his breathing changed, deepening just a little.

Satine chuckled against his mouth. “I like the feel of your hand.”  
It ghosted up the outside of her thigh until it reached her underwear, then continued up over the curve of her hip, pressed in against her waist, moved to her back to cradle her shoulder.

He pulled her close, pressing their hearts together, holding her as if she might vanish entirely if he let go.

Satine felt the slight tremble in his limbs, and, despite what she wanted  _so_ much, pressed a kiss to his shoulder and held him in return.

_Tonight is about you. If you simply need to hold me for now, then_ oh  _will you be held._

He sighed into her shoulder. “I cannot tell what you're feeling.”

“That we have all the time in the universe.”

“Hmm.” He tipped his head, nuzzling the side of her throat.

Oh. Dear.  _Force._

He pulled back just a bit, then hovered his mouth near again. Not kissing her, not a firm press, just...  _tooka-like_ nuzzling and it made her huff in the shelter of her own soul.  _Tease._

He pressed kisses to her skin, behind her ear, under her jaw, down to her shoulder.

Satine went very still, careful not to startle him.  _Flipping him on his back would be too much. Wait and see._

He hesitated at her shoulder, pulled back, looked up. “May I?”

“You may touch whatever you like,” she affirmed again.

Despite her urgency, she found it difficult to dislike his unwillingness to assume consent. She'd had some handsy lovers in the past who ended up with their teeth knocked in.

More pleasant to be asked than to have to bandage her scraped knuckles.

His fingers came up to brush down her throat, his eyes watching her pulse point. The Mando in her felt just a little threatened by that, but Jedi were people entranced by life, who almost worshiped it.

He didn't see her blood as something that could be spilled, but as something to marvel over.

_Look at that. Didn't think I'd be the one uncomfortable._

He leaned forward for a moment to press a tender kiss to her jugular, then leaned back with a more relaxed smile.

_Interesting that getting in touch with the part of you that still values Jedi teachings would help you feel safer here._

She wouldn't have expected that one either.

He settled his hands around her waist, apparently distracted by its shape.

_There's still a thick layer of cloth and steel ribbing you could remove, darling. Just saying._

He gave a small nod to himself.

“I cannot tell what you're feeling?” she murmured in echo of his earlier words.

His gaze snapped up to hers, something playful in their depths now. “Wondering what it feels like, to live inside a body shaped like this.”

“I can feel warmth and cold through my skin, I can tell when there's pressure or the skin is damaged. I feel the weight in the bottom of my feet when I walk—”

He smirked at her. “So very sarcastic, my duchess.”  
“Here's something that's not: would you mind if I took the corset off?”

His brow furrowed again. He nodded, then moved as if to slide off the bed and leave—

“I don't have to, if it would make you uncomfortable. It would hardly be the first time I've slept with it on.” Though she was rather sick of it by now and _really_ didn't want another sleep rotation with it. Somehow she managed to keep _that_ out of her tone.

He looked vaguely confused as he peered back at her.

“You said you wanted to explore my body?” Satine offered to his confusion.

He blinked. “I have. You are beautiful.”

“Are you content with the distance you've gone?”

“Yes.”  
“Does that contentment preclude going further?”

Obi-Wan looked down at his hands. “Would it not be considered bad form to go farther if I am not willing to actually... give you completion? Would that not be rude and teasing?”

“Darling, if I'm in so terrible a straight after you're done, I can  _certainly_ take care of it myself. While you watch if you're interested, or in the bathroom if you're not.”

He looked downright shocked.

It made her chuckle. “Come here, ridiculous man. I'm going to pretend I need help with the laces.” She turned her back to him, peering over her shoulder into his hesitant face.

The hesitation drained away and she found the laces undone quite quickly.

He paused before drawing it away.

Then he did and his lips were being pressed against the back of her shoulder.

He lightly pressed his fingers against her arm, a silent request guiding her to lie on her back.

Instead of looking at her, he simply crawled over the top of her, and eased to lie with his stomach on hers, turning his head to rest his ear against her shoulder. He heaved a sigh.

She moved her hand to stroke his back the way she had when he awakened from his nightmare.

After a long moment he squirmed. Then again. Without launching off of her, he reared back onto his knees, eyes wide.

Satine had felt the reason why.

“It seems to work,” she offered.

Stunned, he peered down at his pants. “Is that... good?”

“It is if you think it is. It's rather gratifying, if I'm completely honest.”

Instead of blushing, his lip pulled back in that gentle smirk. “You have  _always_ drawn attention from different parts of me.”

“Head, heart, and pel kad, you're saying?” she purred.

“Not so pel anymore,” he teased back in a whisper, lowering to kiss up the length of her stomach.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

He wasn't quite as interested in her breasts as she had anticipated he might be. She guessed that had to do with three ingrained convictions of his. That a woman's value had little to do with them. That in a case of unavoidable disrobing it was only polite to avert his gaze because they weren't his.

Add his Jedi comfort with nature and therefore the concept of nursing, and he managed to end up with a hesitance to look too closely at what he'd disrobed, but combined it with a lack of sexual fixation.

He  _did_ look, he even touched a little, but he proved to be far more interested in her mouth, her neck, and her biceps.

Apparently her physical strength was far more interesting to him than equipment designed for infants that didn't actually exist.

_Aren't you curious._

Cheek resting on her stomach as he traced the fingers of one hand down her thigh, he murmured, “I might— I might be willing to lose my shirt.”

“Only if you want to, darling.”

He gave a nod. “Could you?”

“Certainly.”

They sat up again, and Satine drew the hem up over his head. His shoulders hunched, his head drooped—

“Might I touch?”

He gave a quick nod without looking at her.

_You may have little interest in_ my  _torso, but I have_ plenty  _in_ yours _._

She ran gentle hands over the backs of his own, sliding them slowly up his forearms.

Leaning in to distract him with a kiss that toyed with his tongue, she drew her hands up over his triceps and shoulders, down his back, then around, over his chest and stomach.

She kissed him again, then pressed herself against him, allowing her heart to beat against his.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For not being whole for you.”

She breathed a smile as she kissed him lightly before replying, “You are perfect for me.”

“Can we sleep?” he asked, looking unsure.

She nodded and lay back down.

He cuddled up beside her, an arm slipping around her waist as he pressed his cheek to her rib cage.

She sang to him, tracing a light pattern on his shoulder until she found herself too tired to continue. Pressing just a bit closer into him, her breathing shifted into a sleep pattern, and she felt his do the same.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan blinked his eyes open, his ear hurting.

_I must have slept on it wrong._

He lifted his head, discovered a body lying beside his in the soft morning light.

He sighed in contentment, deciding maybe the crushed ear was worth it, if he didn't wake her—

“Good morning,” she murmured.

He nodded in response.

“Did you sleep?”

He reached up to lay his palm flat against her stomach. “Yes.”

“Would you like to help me get ready for the morning?”

“Yes, please.”

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan's fingers managed to be both gentle and firm as he tightened the laces of her corset.

“Right there. Yes. If I was training my body we would cinch tighter, but I'm looking for support only. Need to be able to breathe and fight with it on.”

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder before stepping to the wardrobe. “Which dress?”

 

* * *

 

“I think orange would be appropriate today, darling.”

Obi-Wan's heart leaped, then fluttered madly in his throat.

He had to dig to the far edge of the closet to find an orange gown.

_So long since you last wore this message._

He draped it around her, fastening clasps where she directed, wove a circlet through her hair, stepped back and let himself just appreciate how beautiful he found her.

Orange: thirst for life.

“The tailor had clothes made for you as well. They're in the trunk by the window.”

Puzzled, Obi-Wan moved to peer into it.

He found a white dress uniform. Not quite military, not fully civilian, with tiny, near-metallic orange accents.

_I... match._

“After you've changed in the fresher, would you like me to help with the top?”

He gave a nod, heart quickening again at the thought of her fingers fastening the hooks.

He slipped into the bathroom, switched out his pants, returned with the shirt in hand.

“I feel just a little ridiculous,” he admitted as she draped the fabric around him. “This half licentiousness, half  _not._ ”

She smiled, reaching up to kiss him on the nose. “Ridiculous is fine. You have seen too many holovids, my dear. Love isn't scripted.”

He gave a nod.

He wanted to have faith in himself. Wanted to not feel quite so unsure. Wanted to rest in her acceptance.

Despite acquainting himself with her body last night, he still wasn't sure he was ready for sex.

Oh, he'd have been  _able_ to. Things were certainly working down there, which left him torn between annoyance and embarrassment. Not because he was attracted to her that way, but because someone had  _designed_ this  _absurd metal construct_ and  _hung_ it between his legs.

The question of  _why_ was still echoing through his head.

No, he just wasn't sure he wanted to overshadow such a connection with his need to have his Force connection with her.

He didn't want sex to be a consolation prize. Something second-best. Something he resented because it wasn't as good as what they used to have.

_I don't want to resent anything about you._

He knew he  _would._ No, scratch that, he already  _did._ A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth. He knew  _all_ of the annoying little habits she had that drove him  _bonkers._

Satine sent him an amused glance. “Credit for your thoughts?”

“Do you  _still_ squeeze the tooth cleanser tube from the  _middle_ ?”

Her jaw dropped open, and then she scowled through a grin, her face making a valiant and humorous struggle for severity. “Not  _this_ again!”

He chuckled, stepped into her space, wrapped his arms around her, felt his hand on the small of her back. He drew her in close, and she willingly went, placing her hands on his shoulders.

He leaned his forehead to hers and just breathed, allowing his eyes to fall shut.

_It's alright,_ he promised himself.  _It's alright._

_It's alright we didn't have sex last night. It's alright._

He allowed himself to focus entirely on the sound of Satine's breathing. The warmth beneath his hands. The way his lungs felt when they filled with air. The slight tingle as it escaped through his nose.

He realized he still felt a little shame over last night's supposed  _lack_ of  _fulfillment._

_Satine is right. We define our own relationship. It doesn't have to look like anyone else's. Ever._

He let go of the shame, stopped holding on to it. It lingered, a bit, and then, in this gentle, perfect kiss of theirs, faded away.

In this second, for this heartbeat, he stood here  _alive,_ with the woman of his heart,  _kissing._

As he resurfaced, he realized  _that_ is what meditation for the non-Force-sensitive  _was._ Focusing only on sensations, seeing emotions and understanding where they came from. Allowing them to go where they would.

He might be cut off from the Force...

_But maybe not from peace._

_And maybe... maybe not from absolute happiness, in little tiny pockets of it._

And each time that thought or a similar one whispered from his heart, it was just a little stronger.

Maybe someday it would be strong enough.

“You ready?” Satine asked, as she saw his eyes open.

He nodded against her head. “Let's face today.”

 

* * *

 

The calm remained with him as he traversed the morning by Satine's side, interacting with court members and then preparing to head out and check the defenses.

They saw Ahsoka on the way out, and even though Obi-Wan's heart thudded painfully in his throat, he managed to send a smile her way. Satine's hand found his and gripped it tight.

He squeezed back, watching his grandpadawan walking hesitantly in their direction.

He didn't bolt when Ahsoka reached them. He stood still, holding on to the hand in his like it was a lifeline, afraid but not panicking.

And when she asked, “Did you sleep alright?” his smile shifted into something more genuine.

“Yes.”

And then she was blushing, which made Obi-Wan blush, and Satine grin like an idiot.

“Have a good outing,” Ahsoka offered, and darted away.

Satine chuckled and edged closer to Obi-Wan so her hip bumped lightly into his. “Oh, I intend to,” she purred, low enough only he could hear.

His eyes widened and his gaze snapped around to stare at her.

Her grin did not fade. In the face of it, he felt a single, low, disbelieving laugh escape him.

They left the palace arm in arm, and Obi-Wan looked up, amazed yet again by the glass angles and the way they caught the morning's sun, prisming the beams of light through and leaving rainbows in their wake.

A city of light. A city filled with color.

A city delicate and strong and candid and ridiculously, almost  _arrogantly_ brave.

Who made a city of glass on a planet born only for war?

It made his heart soar.

He paused, turned, ducked his head and kissed Satine's mouth with his own.

He didn't care who saw it.

She draped her arms over his shoulders, smiled, and made his mouth hers.

 

* * *

 

She told him he didn't have to attend the ball that evening.

He believed it, too, but...

Obi-Wan had excelled in dancing, Before.

_And being robbed of the Force certainly shouldn't have damaged that skill._

Just in case, he practiced steps in the refresher while Satine was busy with other politicians.

It took a little to make his feet work quite the way he remembered, but it didn't seem too big a hurdle to overcome.

After discovering she'd had one set of clothes made for him, he wasn't particularly surprised to learn she'd had...  _quite a few more_ made as well.

“Next time, we'll have some input from you. I have several different styles so you can discover what you like, and what you don't. We needed to start somewhere.”

He nodded, considered the two different designs for the evening.

One looked a bit  _pirate_ to him, with billowy white sleeves, dark trousers, and boots with a truly impressive cuff. The gloves matched.

The other had a much more military cut, and was of dark blues.

“How formal is this dance?” he asked, finding the decision more difficult than he thought it  _should_ be.

“Politician informal. Either would be fine.” Satine whorled two dresses out of the closet. “Question is, which do you want to see me in more?”

His eyebrow quirked up. “Does everything match?”

“Perhaps,” she teased. “Can you forgive me for getting a little carried away?”

His eyes widened at the dark showgirl skirt.

Satine chuckled. “With these pants—” she pointed to matte black leather “and leg armor. Vambraces, a thin gorget, a billowy white blouse, and  _this._ I do love this.” She pressed the dresses into his arms so she could retrieve a corset from the closet that had armor reinforcements.

“Is this fashionable?” he asked with a smile.

She chuckled. “Does you like it? Because if you do... let me tell you a secret.” She batted her eyelashes at him, a gesture so abnormal that it almost startled him, “If I wear something, it  _becomes_ fashionable.”

“A terrifying power.”

“Dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“Hmm. I haven't really seen the other option.”

“You took one look at that skirt and couldn't peel your eyes away, could you?”

He leaned in to kiss her nose.

She took the one dress from his arms, leaving him holding the other one. He held it out at arm's length and considered.

A knit that would hug her form from throat to knee, it was a blue that complimented the uniform. It had drooping bell sleeves, a flare at the knee. Where the other was fragrantly warrior-centric, this one was deceptively civilian.

For all Satine's joking about the other outfit, as far as modesty and practicality went, it won the day. And  _this_ one...

He wasn't certain he was ready to see her in this one.

His mirth fell silent as he felt worry return.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered, draping the dress across the foot of the bed and retreating to the other end of the bed to sit and stare out the window.

A moment later, Satine joined him without saying a word.

“I was overthinking it,” Obi-Wan offered.

Satine gave an understanding nod. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Yes. That much I am sure of.”

“What if I set out something else for you, and then I surprise you with what I'm wearing  _at_ the dance floor? Would that be better?”

He stared at her in mild dismay. “How many fancy outfits did you have  _made_ for me?”  
“Well,” she hedged, “it's been a long-term fantasy of mine to wonder what you would look like in various garb. I  _certainly_ overthought it.”

He ducked his head, feeling a bit self-conscious. “I suppose the surprise would be better.”

It would at least take away the need for a decision.

“Alright, then.” She marched back to the closet, returned with clothes that she pressed into his hands. “Away to the recovery room refresher with you. I will either meet you in the little alcove in the back hallway to the ballroom—  _or_ on the dance floor itself. I will check both places.”

He nearly groaned aloud.  _Still_ a choice!

But at least this one he could mull over a bit longer.

He bowed, then retreated.

He felt mildly surprised by the deep hunter green knee-length kilt with royal purple to make it plaid; the long, fitted coat of the same green, with silver clasps over a white swordsmans' blouse; the fitted black leather gloves that reached nearly to his elbows.

_What in blazes is_ she  _wearing?_

He found the knee-high boots to be comfortable, black and dark green leather, silver buttons with a tiny strill printed on each. He turned to the mirror, scrutinizing his appearance.

Well, he'd certainly put all of it on  _right._ He wasn't quite sure what he thought. 

This was different from going undercover.  _Then,_ you had a  _standard_ you were trying to match. And this wasn't about looking your best for a formal occasion while in Jedi uniform.

This...

_What_ do  _I like?_

He knew he wasn't particularly drawn to the gowns Palpatine and Bail usually wore. He loved his friend dearly, so he would never admit it to Organa, but he found the Alderaanian royal attire rather absurd, at times.

This?

He looked like a warrior from an ancient time. A time of steel and determination.

_What would Anakin say?_

The thought unnerved him for a moment, and then he squared his shoulders.

_It doesn't matter. And I think Qui-Gon would have liked it._ While slightly military, it also had a wildness to it that didn't fit with modern military protocol.

And, hell, it would swish nicely around his legs as he danced.

He turned in a circle, peering into the mirror over his shoulder as he went.  _I look good. Not spectacular, but not bad._ He tried on a smile.  _Confidence, remember? That's what sells it._

Could he  _make_ his Maneuver-The-Politicians smile?

He tried. It took a little bit to figure out the metal parts of his face, but he  _did_ discover what it felt like to have a smirk similar to the beckoning one he'd used so often in his days as the Negotiator.

So.

He could hide in the abandoned hallway until Satine arrived, so he could enter the battlefield on her arm.

Or.

He could go in there alone, hold his own, and surprise her when she arrived.

He liked that last idea. It felt bold.

And hell, if you weren't allowed to be just a  _little_ arrogant when wearing a kilt— then— well— no—  _frip you_ .

With that well-reasoned conclusion, Obi-Wan left the room.

His limbs weighed more now than they used to, but he'd been walking with them enough to understand their gait. It was a bit different than his old one, but could he add just a  _little_ swagger? Not  _Vos_ level, certainly, but a little of the Kenobi that used to make Qui-Gon groan in dread for whatever hapless beings they might run into?

_You are a survivor,_ he told himself firmly.  _Around here, that's an attractant. You are an excellent dancer, Yoda said so himself. You_ apparently  _still have a killer smile, if people don't mind metal, and the people here_ don't. _And before this night is through, you are going to be slow dancing with the most beautiful being in the room, and I doubt she's going to be subtle about gazing into your eyes._

_You have no reason whatsoever to hide in the shadows._

The quiver of fear— what if they  _knew_ he'd been Jedi— arose.

_But should I be ashamed of what I was? No. I was a Jedi. There is honor in that. I gave it my best while I was there. And where I go now is my own business._

He could do this.

He listened to the soft sound of his feet against the floor and nodded to himself.

He  _could_ do this.

 

* * *

 

Satine approached the alcove, heart flip-flopping in her chest.

Part of her expected to find him there. Thought she was  _insane_ to hope for anything else. Perhaps even  _wrong_ to hope for something else. Was it pushy to hope for something else—?

But he wasn't there.

Her heart jumped into her throat.

_Either he's in the room itself, or he didn't make it here._

She hastened for the door, then paused.

If he'd made it on his own, she wasn't going to wreck her entrance.

Smirking to herself, she retreated down the hall and around to the main doors.

Oh,  _yes._

If he'd had the courage to make it here, she would make it worth his while.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan fully anticipated being ignored.

As long as he carried himself with confidence— whether he felt it or not— it wouldn't matter. He inspected the refreshment table, dithering over whether  _anything_ was worth risking it or not, when the first young warrioress made herself known.

Apparently he still still attracted the early-twenties crowd.

He smiled, polite, and found the requisite small talk close to hand.

_So apparently_ that  _is a skill I haven't lost._

Another lady— this one clearly past her twenties but still a good decade younger than Obi-Wan himself— joined the conversation. And then a man of similar age.

_All of them attracted to me._

He didn't need the Force to see it.

He suspected it shouldn't feel as reassuring as it did.  _What does that make me? I must be far more vain than I ever realized._

Slightly mortifying, but the absolute  _relief_ that he wasn't a  _spectacle_ or charity case was uppermost in his mind.

_Satine was right. Her people see the..._ warrior...  _beneath. If one_ must  _use that term._

The doors, which had not parted for a good ten minutes, swung open, and heads turned.

Obi-Wan felt his heart leap, then freeze, his eyes widening as he saw his Duchess.

His...

He missed the regretful glances of those near him when they recognized his reaction. The resigned sighs.

Satine wore a gown of dark green, with purple swirls through the fabric taylored to fit her form. Clear, sparkling stones scattered across one shoulder, tracing a slim pattern down her waist and to the skirt. Stones glittering equally in the bright lights adorned her hair, done up in a messy, elaborate bun.

The mid-thigh high slit in the left side of the skirt revealed long, elegant boots with a flat heel, then the pale of her skin.

She walked with the presence of a giant feline, danger and grace alike in her step.

Obi-Wan tried to remember to breathe as she walked through the gathering like she owned it.

_She does._

He moved to meet her.

_Because she will not turn me away._

He heard the soft music shift to the intro to an Alderaanian waltz. He stepped to Satine, smiled, held out his hand and asked, “Might I have the pleasure of this dance?” with a bow.

Ah. Apparently he remembered how to do  _that_ correctly too. Rather, he remembered how to pervert the gesture into something of a weapon all its own. He raised her hand to his lips, smiling up at her.

Her eyes widened in scandalized shock for the briefest moment before she raised her head and said, “You certainly may,” with all the gravity of her royalty.

He didn't need to charm her.

She was already his.

But he was going to do it anyway.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not usually particularly interested in writing hetero sex, but these two seem determined to explore in spite of the author. So just be aware this story may get uncomfortable for someone who is comfortable with explicit violence but not with explicit sex.
> 
> However, in defiance of the story and characters defying me, I put my foot down and insisted that it wouldn't be a porn piece. If I have to write hetero for this story somewhere in the next few chapters, it's not going to be classic erotica. This Obi-Wan has felt better than sex when he had access to the Force, and Satine has had more experienced partners. Nobody's going to black out.

 

He was stealing hearts.

The ridiculous man was drawing eyes and _not_ in the ways he'd feared.

Satine felt both gratified at the proof of her assurances to him earlier, and gentle vexation at the fact that he both _noticed_ and that every gesture, word, movement was calculated to convince people to do what he wanted.

_You sly strill._

_What they_ don't _tell the universe: Obi-Wan Kenobi is the Negotiator because he is sexy as hell and people can't stop looking at his mouth when he talks._

Or maybe that was just her _own_ bias.

“How do I look?” he murmured in her ear as the music brought them together.

She glowered at him until they passed through the correct steps to rejoin, by which point she had her answer. “Terribly smug.”

He arched an eyebrow at her in feigned innocence.

_Oh. Yes. This was such a good idea._

Even _if_ it brought out the arrogant Padawan he used to be.

_Arrogant knight. Who are we fooling, Satine? He's always been aware of his power._

“I have no idea what you mean,” he promised, lips barely brushing her ears, breath against her neck.

_Damn you._ But two could play this game.

It was ridiculous to avow he would be in love with her before the evening was through, since he already _was—_

But Force frip a Sith, he was _going_ to be in love with her before the evening was through.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka came because she was curious. She'd never actually been to a _ball_ before. The Duchess had offered her access to the tailors, but Ahsoka had declined.

Military officers attended dances in full dress.

Why not she?

There was a beautiful synchrony of brightly-plumed beings, all of them following the ancient steps with a unity that made it strangely mesmerizing. _And_ the music vibrated pleasantly in Ahsoka's montrals. Much as she loved modern Coruscanti music, if it was played on big speakers, the beat was a most unpleasant reverberation to experience up there.

She recognized the Duchess' nephew when he approached with a smile.

She agreed to the dance, but _only_ if they danced in the corner.

“I don't actually know this one,” she admitted.

He chuckled, promised to teach her, and proceeded to make the evening both enjoyable and hilarious for Ahsoka with his attempts to teach her the various steps of the dances.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan was in the middle of spinning Satine when he caught sight of Anakin standing to the side of the room, looking lost.

Fortunately the dance turned Obi-Wan away again, and with all the people, it was quite likely Anakin hadn't located him yet.

Normally, Anakin had a quiet ease about him that rivaled Obi-Wan's own. Anakin used to keep track of how many people paid them... _attention,_ and keep score.

Not that Obi-Wan approved. It wasn't a contest, Anakin.

Oh, only seven? Hmm. Losing your edge, there, Anakin.

_Anakin is here._

Obi-Wan felt an urge to withdraw into himself. To turn his movements wooden, to stop flirting, to remain quiet, aloof, distant.

_But why? Why don't I want him to think I'm enjoying myself? Because I_ am. _I am enjoying this very much._

His hand on Satine's waist, her other hand in his, demonstrating he was _very good_ at what he was currently doing—

_Oh. It's because I don't want him to think he's forgiven yet. Or that everything is okay._

But was it worth dimming his own enjoyment _just_ to make such a point to _Anakin,_ of all people?

_The man I'm supposedly no longer beholden to?_

Obi-Wan looked down into Satine's sparkling eyes, saw the devious challenge in their depths, knew she was going to use her entire arsenal against him this evening.

_Frip Anakin._

_Tonight is my night._

_I'm going to enjoy it._

 

* * *

 

For a time Anakin watched, feeling strangely out of place.

This should be second nature by now... but...

He shook himself. Time to let the griefs of yesterday fade for a time. He was here because _someone_ needed to be. And with Obi-Wan no longer a Jedi, and doubtlessly hiding in his room somewhere, and Ahsoka... _not representing,_ and instead snickering in the corner with the Kryze kid, that left Anakin himself.

_I can do this. I can do this well._

He ran his gaze along the wall, found a young man who stared longingly at the dancing.

He might not enjoy his time here, but at least he could make sure others felt less left out.

He danced with the young man, who truly had a beautiful smile, and then Anakin was off to another wallflower, asking her with as much courtly grace as if she were a queen.

As he left her after the dance, he murmured in her ear, “Surely if you asked for someone's hand for a dance, they would not refuse.”

“You think?” she asked, hope lighting her eyes.

“Try until you succeed,” he encouraged.

He saw her a couple times later that evening, dancing with different partners.

Well...

At least he wasn't spreading his misery, and was spreading a form of happiness instead.

Obi-Wan would consider it a victory.

Anakin sighed and headed for the refreshment table.

Obi-Wan.

He missed him so fripping badly.

“Master. Try the tiny egg slices on the toothpicks. Marvelous,” Ahsoka's voice came at his elbow.

He did.

Hell erupted in his mouth, a cruelty beyond even the tortures Separatists had inflicted upon him in the last two years.

His eyes watered, he wasn't sure what he did with the toothpick, and he was trying to wash his mouth out with who knew what—

He realized his mistake as soon as the vicious burn hit his tongue.

Oh, great.

Yep.

Wrong goblet— not water—

His body revolted from him trying to gulp so large a mouthful of Mandalorian alcohol, so it went through his nose.

Because _surely,_ that would be _less_ traumatic—

He hated his body sometimes.

A hand on his arm was guiding him— he couldn't see, so he simply submitted to the pressure as he tried to use the Force to ease the agony that now flooded his _sinuses_ too— was he making a scene? He hoped not.

Actually, you know what? He was _dying._ He might be _forgiven_ for _making a scene._

Dear _Force_ it hurt!

He felt a spoon push at his lips, and he pulled away with a shudder.

“Open.”

He obeyed on instinct, though once his mind recognized the voice, mortification grabbed him by the throat.

Some creamy pudding substance entered his mouth.

“Swish it around. Everywhere where it hurts.”

It eased the pain, though where his tongue touched the roof of his mouth, the flesh felt raw and damaged.

_Seriously?_

A shotglass was nudged into his hand. “You need to flush your sinuses. Send it up your nose, then tilt your head so it flows through to the other side.”

Once again he obeyed, because the suffering was still intense.

He hated the whole water-up-the-nose routine, but—

No—

That wasn't _water._

Whatever it was, it soothed the burn, and Anakin had the urge to wipe the tears from his eyes.

A hand seized his wrist. “Wash your hands first.”

Fear streaked through him.

He hadn't even _thought_ about that, but _yes—_ depending on what he'd done with the toothpick, that _poison_ might be _on his fingers—_

He somehow managed to unclench one eyelid to squint at his rescuer.

He found Obi-Wan peering up at him with sympathetic concern. “What was it you put in your mouth?”

“An... egg... thing?”  
Obi-Wan looked relieved. “Then you don't need to see a medic.”

“A _medic_?”

“For the love of all that's holy, stay away from the bright green cookies.”

“Master?” Ahsoka sounded sobered. “I didn't— I'm sorry. I didn't realize...”

Obi-Wan's face scrunched in that trying _desperately_ not to laugh look Anakin knew so well. “You put him up to it?”

“I asked Korkie what was spicy, and he said _that_... and Anakin always boasts about how much he can handle, spicy food-wise...”

“Thank the _Force_ you didn't ask him what was _hot._ Spicy just means has _some_ burn.”

“ _Some_?” Anakin parroted back, horrified.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Stick to the pale yellow wafers, Anakin. They'll settle your stomach.”

“Why would it need settling?”

A chuckle escaped his former master, but he didn't reply.

“Oh, boy,” Ahsoka whispered. “I am so glad he went first.”

“You are in _so much trouble,_ ” Anakin sniffed, wondering when his eyes would stop watering. “What did you put up my nose?”

The crows-feet by Obi-Wan's living eye crinkled. “Milk. And milk pudding in your mouth. It'll keep you out of the med bay. Most of the time.”

“ _Most_ of the time?” Anakin groaned. “Why haven't these people _died out_ already?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “They've adapted.”

“If people can adapt to _that,_ they can adapt to _anything._ ”

Obi-Wan's smile died.

Anakin kicked himself, memory of their estrangement flooding back. He looked away. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

Obi-Wan gave a short nod. “Right.” He sounded uncomfortable. “I'll just... I need to...”

And then he was gone.

Anakin looked after him with an aching heart.

“He almost seemed normal for a minute,” Ahsoka murmured.

Anakin swallowed. It hurt. And _not_ because of his near-death experience.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan felt fairly certain the evening was _over,_ but when he refound Satine, she had to put so much effort into looking concerned, and was _failing_ so _terribly_ around the eyes, her mirth bleeding through, that he felt mildly ruffled.

“I swear you should put biohazard signs on little flags to put _right_ alongside the labels.”

She choked back a snicker. “Another Jedi with a weak tongue, my lord?”

“I don't seem to remember many complaints about my tongue earlier,” he snarked back.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Ooh. Ready to back up that claim, beautiful man?”

He kissed her mouth just to shut her up. _And_ to show he'd been paying attention to how she kissed.

And then the music changed to a traditional Mandalorian dance, wild and reckless, heavy on the whistles and pipes and Satine dragged him into it before he had a chance to decline.

Her eyes sparkled so bright, and her laugh rang clear, and Obi-Wan found he could do nothing other than follow her, adore the way locks of hair had slipped free from their confinement, and prove to her he could perform this dance _just_ as well as a Mando-born could.

Yes. He. _Could._

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka stood by Anakin, watching Obi-Wan and the Duchess dance.

“It's like he was made for this,” she whispered.

Anakin found he couldn't speak a word. _Yes. Yes, he's amazing._

Ahsoka's hand slipped into his, gripped it tight. “I think he's going to be okay.”

Anakin found he couldn't argue with her. He'd _never_ seen Obi-Wan grin before. Smile, sure. Snicker or chuckle, of course. Genuine laughter? Well, _yes,_ but he could count the times he'd witnessed it on one hand.

But to see him flashing his canines, eyes sparkling, looking _delighted_?

While Anakin felt grateful that Obi-Wan's entire world wasn't hell now, that there were glimpses of hope and joy...

It hurt _terribly_ to be on the outside looking in.

To know that simply being rescued by Obi-Wan nearly ended his former master's evening.

_Maybe..._

_Maybe we should go._

_Maybe Obi-Wan would recover faster if I wasn't here._

_Maybe I'm making this worse._

 

* * *

 

They took a detour to the private moonlit garden before heading back to Satine's room.

_Our room,_ Obi-Wan thought with a surreal shiver.

The light bathed Satine in a gentle glow, the quiet stillness of the beauty of the white gravel path, the plants, and his love providing rest for his heart.

She watched his face as he simply _looked_ at her.

How could something so still, so calm, provide such a deep sense of healing?

Something in her expression softened.

_What? What is it? What do I look like right now?_

She must have recognized the disconcerted doubt, because she reached out and caressed her palm to the side of his face.

“You were beautiful tonight,” she murmured.

He arched an eyebrow. “ _I_ was? And here I was just thinking _you_ are.”

“Ready to retire for the night?”

He gave a nod and allowed her to lead him back into the palace.

As the door slid shut behind them and Satine triggered the lights, she sent him a devious look. “How did you like the attire I picked out?”

“The dress is beautiful,” he swore, moving to help her with the fastenings when she turned and peered expectantly over her shoulder at him.

She smiled. “I certainly appreciated how _you_ looked. I very much liked the way the fabric swished around your thighs.”

“I thought you might.”

Her eyes widened in delight. “Oh, _did_ you? But you danced _anyway._ How far am I to take this terribly inappropriate behavior?”

“Pretty far,” he murmured, hands pulling away from the fastenings to slip down her waist, then gliding to rest on her stomach, drawing her back against him as he pressed a ghost-light kiss to her throat.

Satine shivered against him, and he smirked against her skin. “Is the goal to drive me mad?” she teased back in a whisper.

“Perhaps. If it will convince you to undress completely.” Obi-Wan nuzzled her ear, his heart quickening.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder. “I think that could be arranged.”

“And if I were to do the same?”  
“I would worship as much of you as you would permit,” she murmured back.

Obi-Wan tightened his arms around her, unwilling to let her go, in spite of what he wanted to undertake.

It was slow as they undressed one another, hands gentle against skin and metal. Languorous kisses sent warm signals through his brain and body and he found he liked the way it felt when she rubbed her thumb into the palm of his hand.

Found she liked it when he firmly stroked down her ass to her thigh.

Discovered she liked it when he twined his fingers in her hair and applied a little pressure. Not a yank, no pain, just a slight weight.

Felt his pulse pound in his throat when her hands settled on his hips.

“How are you doing?” Satine murmured, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

He took a breath to ease the last stirrings of fear as she soothed his arm with gentle fingers. “I want you to show me how to please you with my fingers.”

“I think that's a lovely idea. And I have one that will make it even better.”

He watched, puzzled, as she walked to her dresser and pulled open a drawer. He smiled at the view, being able to see the full length of her back and legs, her ease with her own nudity.

She returned with a disposable glove, slipping it over his right hand with a satisfied smile. “So you don't have to spend an eternity cleaning smells out of all the little tiny gears.”

“You are so thoughtful,” he murmured, recapturing her mouth again. She chuckled and explored his mouth as her hand drew his low.

He felt his own breathing catch, felt his forehead wrinkle, just a little.

“You alright?” Satine whispered.

He gave a nod and mouthed her lower lip, allowing her hand to guide his fingers.

The feeling through his fingers distracted him from the kiss again, however. Coarse hair, then warmth and softness, complexity and simplicity.

She did not guide his fingers inside her, but she did guide him until her breathing quickened, her muscles shivering and her forehead pressed into his in an unconscious sharing of her pleasure.

_He_ was doing that. Leaving her without words, pushing her into a place where only pleasant sensation remained.

He recognized one shiver to be different than the others. Her eyes fluttered shut and a smile crossed her lips as she stilled his hand and then drew it to the side, twining her fingers with his damp ones. Her breathing shifted again, deepening, trying to regain her breath.

“You alright?” he asked in mirror of her earlier question.

She opened her eyes and they sparkled up at him. “Very. You?”

“Better, now.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Isn't that supposed to be my line?”

“I would be willing to try again, sometime.”  
“I'm a bit sensitive at the moment, but certainly, Darling. If you like it, you can try again sometime. You're a quick learner; soon you would be managing all on your own.”

“What if I like your hand guiding mine?”  
She smiled and kissed his lips. “Is there anything else you want to explore?”

He wasn't quite sure yet. He'd expected to feel a bit... _empty..._ perhaps, in the wake of making love. Currently, he felt quite calm with his participation, without the anxieties, and— the biggest relief of all— no self-questioning.

_Quit while you're ahead, or risk more?_

Satine waited without impatience, holding him and kissing his throat and shoulders.

“Could we lie down and kiss some more, then sleep?” he asked.

She nodded and led him by the hand to the bed.

When he lay on his back, she crawled up, draping over him, tangling their legs and placing all her attention on his lips, teeth, palate.

He sighed beneath her, loving the weight of her, intrigued by the gentle dampness against his hip from her earlier experience, and aware of the way her thigh lay against his cock.

It felt good. And while he didn't doubt it would be pleasant to chase after _that_ particular sensation, these other ones were precious too and he wasn't quite ready to discard them.

Not tonight.

He held her close and smelled her hair, marveled at the curve of her back with his fingers, the strength in her glutes.

“You are incredible,” he whispered into her mouth.

And the way her face softened into a small, pleased smile brought that word she hated so much to his heart again. An adorable smile.

So happy, here with him now.

_Am I happy?_ He'd been busy experiencing the physical sensations, and how they linked to his respiratory system. How patches of skin in places nowhere near the genitals could still result in delightful tingles.

He brushed his nose against her ear, stilled, let his breath ease out of his lungs fully, and paid attention to his mind and heart.

His heart sang with content. In the now, in what the future would bring. Yes, his cock felt a bit _odd_ at the moment, and he was aware there was a way to change it, but in this moment, that too was an experience worth _experiencing._

Savored in its own way.

Another time he could explore what a different response to it would bring.

_And my mind?_

That was tired and relaxed. He had enjoyed the dancing, despite the vibration of yearning pain left in the wake of interacting so _normally_ with Anakin.

He discovered his anger to be missing tonight, and with its obscuring cloud gone, he could see the wound in his mind where his bond to his former Padawan had been.

Obi-Wan hadn't really considered it before, because of the overwhelming agony of being cut off from the Force as a whole— but that wounding wasn't the only injury inflicted by the traumatic severing.

He remembered how difficult those early days after losing Qui-Gon had been. The agony of them.

This wound looked very, very similar. Torn and inflamed, untreated and crusted over.

_I miss him,_ Obi-Wan realized.

He held Satine tighter, his next sigh one of mournful recognition.

“What is making you so sad?” she murmured, thumb stroking the place where his shoulder joined his chest.

“All that has been lost.” He swallowed, the action difficult, and then he tilted his head to meet her gaze. “But do you know what is bringing me calm in that pain?”

“What?”

“All that has been gained.” He leaned to suck her lip into his mouth again, and she met him halfway.

When she nestled her head against his chest and he discovered his eyelids to be too heavy to hold open anymore, he released another breath, acknowledging he felt both overwhelming loss and peaceful joy at once.

It was alright.

It was aayhan.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Middle of the chapter includes semi-explicit, unconventional smut. May or may not be your thing.

 

The next evening they were far too tired from their political machinations to do anything other than tumble into bed and fall asleep, but the next day there was a battle.

And Satine had become angry. _Very_ angry.

Some of her men had fallen into a trap and been blown to pieces.

Obi-Wan had walked with her through the carnage, throat nearly closed, breathing carefully behind the merciful shield of the helmet.

Anakin had been with them.

In the end, Obi-Wan managed to drag his love away from his brother, even while she continued yelling at him with the voice of a military officer who knew  _just where_ to place the blame.

Anakin had been stunned at first, then fought back, their fury clearing the room of everyone except for a very uncomfortable Obi-Wan.

Once in the training room, Obi-Wan endured  _more_ yelling, this time not just about Anakin (who should have  _sensed something_ ), but about her men (who should have  _seen_ the signs, why didn't they see the signs?) and her sister (how could she betray our clan to side with those  _filthy_ Vizslas?) too.

Obi-Wan tossed her a training sword of barely-flexible plastoid, and then did his best to defend himself as he let her pour her rage into an attempt to beat his ass.

As he allowed his body to move as it needed to to fend her off, Obi-Wan's mind tried to process his own personal hell.

He wasn't surprised by the tear that slipped down his cheek as he twisted out of her reach and met her strikes with measured blocks.

Satine's ranting slowed, fell silent, and then, after fighting a while longer, she flung her sword aside, planted her hands on her hips, and simply looked  _sad._

Obi-Wan lowered his own blade and moved to embrace her. She hugged him back, sighing.

“I hate it when my people die.”

“I know.”

“How are you?”  
“Not well,” he whispered. “Not well at all.” And now, with Satine on firm ground again, his shoulders sagged, his head hung, and he allowed himself to not be alright.

And as he had held strong for Satine, now she held him against his own demons.

 

* * *

 

It was quiet, the rest of the day. Both found themselves feeling subdued, and though Obi-Wan tried to work on his plans for Unification Day, he found his heart was not in the work.

They were on their way to a quiet dinner when Anakin approached and, head lowered, shoulders back murmured, “I apologize for my words earlier, Duchess Kryze. You were right. I should have been able to prevent us walking into that trap.”

“I also spoke in the heat of the moment Knight Skywalker. Your efforts and sacrifices on our behalf have not gone unnoticed. We are grateful for your assistance.”

Anakin gave her a grim nod, the sorrow still tight around his eyes.

His gaze did not flick to Obi-Wan as he turned and walked away.

Satine continued on her journey, but Obi-Wan paused to look after his brother as the boy walked away, posture still drooped.

Obi-Wan had firmly believed that without his intervention, Anakin Skywalker was incapable of fixing his own political mistakes, or of even possessing the motivation to do so.

_It appears I was wrong._

He found his heart ached at the burden Anakin carried, but something else,  _something_ stirred in his soul at seeing Anakin apologize.

_He is coming into his own._

And with Ahsoka to stand by and steady him....

He would be alright.

The idea did not burn Obi-Wan. He found a bitter sweetness in it. No. He did not wish Anakin _harm._

It was a quiet night for the newly lovers, cuddling up together as they sought sleep, their sleep clothes soft between them.

 

* * *

 

It was two nights later that they again had a chance, and the heart, to continue their explorations.

Obi-Wan decided he wanted to try  _“The finger business”_ with her again, this time on his own. This time he knelt so he could inspect with his eyes as well as his fingers.

And after, when he pressed a kiss to the join between her thigh and stomach, he hesitated, then made a request.

“I would like to have you touch me,” Obi-Wan murmured, his living cheek flushing. “But— not the pel kad. Can one make love without?”

The request surprised Satine, but she gave a nod. “Certainly. How would you feel about being penetrated?”

“I suppose you have something for the purpose?”

“I do.”

He considered, then gave a nod. “I think I'm ready. Just not... not for the metal, yet.”

“Of course, Darling.”

She led him to her special drawer, placed a bottle in his hands, then had him look over her modest collection of dildos.

His brow furrowed as he noticed one of the three— “Is that a  _knot_ ?”

“It certainly is.”  
He sent her a half-amazed, half-incredulous look that made her chuckle. “Would my fingers be more to your liking?”

“Would that not be... distasteful for you?” he asked, looking skeptical.

She patted his arm and drew him toward the refresher. “We're going to make you clean first, so no, we'll be fine.”

He nodded, setting the bottle down on the counter. “I've never cleaned the  _inside_ before.”

“Not too difficult,” she reassured, and proceeded to explain.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan smelled of soap as he emerged from the shower, wrapped in a towel, looking beautiful in Satine's eyes. The gentle twists of steel gray and gold in the mechanized limbs had a grace in its intricacy, and with the inner workings visible, they were mesmerizing to watch.

Bodies were incredible things, but you couldn't  _see_ so much of the intricate marvel beneath the skin. With Obi-Wan, sometimes you  _could._

Satine tilted her face up to kiss his lips, and he leaned down into the caress, his hands moving to cradle her bare hip and lower back. He pressed a kiss to her forehead next, then gazed down into her eyes. “I'm just a bit afraid,” he admitted.

“Of?”  
“Of not responding correctly.”

“There is no correct response. And if at any point you want to stop, it's alright. We could just crawl into bed now and kiss the night away.”

The smile that touched his lips was gentle as he brought his fingers up to brush her jaw. “I want to try this. Show me how?”  
He moved to lie on his stomach on the bed— already covered in a waterproof sheet for ease of cleanup— and Satine followed, moving a pillow to his hips. “Can I take the towel?”

He nodded but did  _not_ move to help, keeping the major source of his discomfort hidden against the bed.

Free of all fabric between the two of them, Satine smiled at the view as she tapped on his butt. “Pillow goes under your hips.”

He maneuvered so she could slip the cushion beneath him, then settled back down again. He peered back at her, askance. “I must look  _absurd_ . Naked with my arse in the air.”

Satine grinned back. “It's a rather enjoyable view.” She rubbed her palm against his lower back. “I am going to put  _this_ ” she waved the bottle where he could see it, “in my hand to warm it up a bit, and then I'm just going to touch you all around your entrance and the muscles all around here, but not gett'se or pel gam. Is that alright?”

“Yes.” He dragged another pillow to him to rest his head against.

“Are you comfortable?” Satine asked as she warmed some of the penetration-safe massage oil in her hand.

“Mm-hmm.”

The chill taken off the coolness of the liquid, Satine turned her hand and pressed it into his lower back.

She made feathering motions with the tips of the backs of her fingers all the way up to the base of his neck, flaring out from his spine, and then settled in to rub deep with palms and thumbs.

A breath escaped him, then a low groan of content.

“Darling,” he whispered, voice shaking just a bit, “I hate to inform you of this, but this is not sex. This is a massage— and  _where_ did you learn to be the  _goddess_ of it?”

“On the contrary,” she chuckled back, “I  _am_ making love to you right now.”

“Far be it from me to argue—  _yes—_ right there.”

She watched as the tension and fear drained away in the face of the damaged body finally receiving some of the pampering it had deserved after long years of war and pain.

“Nothing hurts, right now,  _nothing_ hurts,” Obi-Wan whispered, voice choked.

Satine blinked against the stinging in her own eyes. The easing— even if temporary— of chronic pain was something that could touch deep, all on its own.

Especially if the owner of it had long ago become resigned to its presence.

He did not tense up as she caressed his ass, exploring it with her hands and with the same pressure she'd been applying to his back.

The metal didn't give like the skin did, but he  _did_ report that he could feel it.

“Is it pleasant?” Satine asked.

“I can't quite tell. My brain doesn't know what to do with these signals yet.”

“Understandable. Mention it if it becomes uncomfortable at all.”

He gave a nod against the pillow.

Satine slid her hands up his back to his shoulders, then lay down on top of him.

He let out a low  _ooph._

She nuzzled the back of his neck and under his ear, smiling as she felt his skin prickle against her whisper-light touches. She relaxed against him, hand stroking down his side to caress his hip as she gently pressed her front to his ass.

A shiver ran down the length of him, and his breathing shifted.

Warmth filled her heart as his body responded to hers, and she kept up the gentle teases.

“Please,” he whispered at last, voice shaking.

He complied when she adjusted his position, shivered when she traced her finger around his opening. She pressed a kiss to the base of his spine, then began to introduce him to one finger.

“ _Very_ odd,” he breathed out as it gently entered him.

“Unpleasant?” she checked.

“No.”

She smiled to herself, sought his prostate, and—

A quiet yelp escaped him and his hips twitched forward, which undoubtedly rubbed his cock against the pillow. He hissed in response.

“What was that?” Satine teased with a chuckle, brushing the place again.

“Dear Force,” he gasped out. “I'm assuming that's my prostate?”

“Yes.”

“And here I thought they were exaggerating. That is very nice.”

Satine chuckled again. “Very nice?”

“More please, and a bit harder.”  
His hips rocked more, his unsteady breathing the only sound he made as she stimulated him further.

After several long moments, Satine murmured, “It's alright to touch yourself, if you want something more firm than the pillow.”

“I don't—”

She saw his blush, tinging his ear and edging around his neck.

“Have you never?” she asked, rubbing his lower back with her free hand to soothe him.

“Twice,” he shot back. “Once on a dare. The second because of curiosity.”

_Twice._ Amusement filled her again.  _Oh, darling._

She continued what she could with her limited access, and when he admitted he needed the pressure removed, she returned her hands to caressing the outside of his skin.

He didn't seem quite comfortable, though.

“Would you like to retreat to the shower?” she asked. “If you want to finish there, I can wait for you here.”

“How would that help?” he asked, sounding torn between being peeved and embarrassed.

“Would it?”

He hesitated. “Without you, it's just a sensation.”

“Ah. And with me?”  
For a moment the silence stretched long. Then he pushed himself up on his elbows, flushed face turning to look up into hers. “Shall we find out?”

When he rolled to his back, Satine shoved the pillow out of their way and lay down on his stomach, lips locking with his as she pressed her thigh against his aroused length.

His breath shivered as she rocked against him.

One hand cradled her head, the other slid down to her hip as he pressed up against her.

A quiet sigh escaped him.

Satine kept his mouth busy as she trailed her hand down to his own hip, and then murmured, “Speak to me.”  
“Yes,” he whispered. “Touch me?”

Her fingers, still slick with the oil, caressed the cool metal, then down to fondle reconstructed balls. He hissed again.

“Alright?” she checked.

“Very— nice—” he rasped out again.

Satine chuckled into his mouth, then removed her hand, placing it firmly on his ass as she allowed her thigh to press into him once more. “Follow me?” she asked.

He clung to her as they rocked, Satine appreciating his own thigh between hers.

When he came, a little gasp escaped him, his eyes wide with surprise, warm fluid trailing town Satine's leg.

She clenched around his thigh, shifted her position a little, and wiggled.

Looking a little dazed, he murmured, “How do I help?”

“Experience with me.”

His hand cupped her ass, following her movements, the other caressing her face as he watched it. Watched her eyes and lips and the flush in her cheeks with wonder in his own eyes.

When Satine stilled against him, neck arched, breathing heavily, and humming with a small smile, Obi-Wan watched with parted lips as if he beheld something amazing.

She kissed his mouth as she came down from it, a quiet kiss, and then she rested against his chest.

He held her close, breathing into her hair.

For several moments when their hearts beat against one another, it was enough.

Then the cool, unyielding arms tightened against her just a bit more. “I seem to have lost fluids,” he murmured.

Satine grinned against his shoulder. “That happens, yes.”

“What do you suppose it  _is_ , since it's not... what I had before?”  
“Undoubtedly some nonlethal substitute.”

“I'm not sure how I feel about that.”  
“We can find out from the doctors exactly what it's made of.”  
He made a low grunt. “It's not the toxicity I'm uneasy about.”

“It's that someone thoughtfully created something warm and pleasant to fill your new gett'se with so that when you make love in this way something comes out?”

He pulled back his head and tipped her jaw so he could see her face. She braced an elbow on the bed beside him to make it work. “That doesn't bother you at all?”  
“There may be a setting you can turn off, if you like. The fact that cut eunuchs _can_ orgasm means you can probably feel something that intense without having to actually spill something.”  
He blushed. “So much more in two sentences than I ever wanted to know.”

“Come on,” Satine chuckled. “Let's clean up.”

He helped her strip the covering off the bed, then, ducking his head and looking just a bit shy, he asked, “Could we— shower? Together?”

She twined her fingers with his and smiled as she gave her affirmative.

He seemed entranced by the way the water rolled down her face, his hands gentle as he cleaned her body. She guided the water over him in return, loving the way his metallic limbs sparkled under the influence of water and light.

They took a bit more time than she'd at first anticipated, but when they stepped out, Obi-Wan's bashfulness seemed to have eased again.

He  _did_ put on his night clothes, and he looked sheepish when she asked if he would be more comfortable if she did too and he nodded.

“It's not wrong to wear clothes,” she whispered. “And I don't mind.”

His gaze sought her eyes again, his expression gentle with adoration.

They curled up in the bed, Obi-Wan pressing close to her back, hands firm and warm against her. She leaned back into him, loving the way their bodies fit together.

“You are so beautiful, in every way,” she whispered as he relaxed his muscles for sleep.

He gripped her tighter. And when he spoke, his voice was an unsteady murmur, “When you say it, I almost believe it.”

“Someday,” she replied, “it won't be an almost.”

“You promise?” He sounded so young—

“Promise.”

* * *

 

Satine awoke to Obi-Wan peering down at her and the dawn whispering in through the window, turning his silver skin pink-gold.

“Am I supposed to feel different now?” he asked when he saw her eyes open.

She looked up at him, amused. “Different how?”

“Like life suddenly makes sense and a right of passage and all that.”  
“I don't know.  _Do_ you?”

“I feel rather the same. Except that I tried something new, and it wasn't a complete disaster, so I feel slightly less afraid of it.”

“Positive things?”

A hint of amusement tugged at his face. “It was  _very_ nice.”

“I'm beginning to think that should be a slogan for condoms.”

He barked a laugh and leaned in to kiss her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her chin, everywhere on her face he could manage.

She chuckled against the onslaught. “Good morning to you too.”

“I feel so much for you,” he whispered, pulling back just far enough to stare into her eyes. “So many good things.”

“And I of you. Wonderful things.”

“I didn't sob after, and I didn't storm away in the morning to brood. Did I pass?”

Satine frowned up at him, reaching up to lightly bat his nose with her forefinger. “Did I  _forget_ to tell you that there  _isn't_ a—”

“Checklist?” he replied, scrunching his nose against the finger but not pulling away. “Deadline? Correct response?”

“So you  _were_ listening.”

“I always listen,” he murmured, and the love in his eyes was so  _warm,_ so overpowering it made her soul sing with joy even if the words were technically untrue and contained a universe of sap.

“I do believe you're a hopeless romantic,” she teased.

“For you? Always.”

* * *

 

“The  _signs_ people are sleeping together.” Obi-Wan paid close attention to his boots as he latched the buckles. “Will it bother you if I don't automatically  _make_ them?”  
“Hand on my hip, touching all the time, long  _knowing_ gazes?”

“Among other things?”

Satine twirled in place to make her skirt flare out and brush his ankles where he sat on the bench by the door. “To be honest, it's none of their business what we do or don't do, and I want you as comfortable as possible. After the ball, they know we love one another, and that makes me content.”

“I wasn't very subtle.”

“You danced nearly every set with me.”

“How could I take my eyes off you?” Obi-Wan retorted, tone gentle. “Precious and beautiful and  _mine_ ?”

Satine moved close, placed her finger under his chin and lifted it so he looked up into her eyes. “You be you.  _That_ pleases me most.”

“And you say  _I'm_ the hopeless romantic,” he smirked, leaning up to brush his lips to hers.

 

* * *

 

As the day progressed, a pensive expression began to form on Obi-Wan's brow. At some points he stopped listening to proceedings, and looked a bit surprised when people spoke to him, as if being lost in his thoughts should automatically make him invisible.

_Uh-oh._

Satine expected him to bring it up when they retired for the night, but he merely kept his not-quite-worried furrow until Satine finally tapped him on the shoulder, making him look away from the window in confusion.

“What's going on in there?” Satine asked, reaching up to brush her thumb over his head.

He looked half ashamed. “I like making you feel good.”

“Is that what you're feeling upset about?” Satine asked, a bit skeptically.

He managed a faint smile. “No. But I've been thinking about— about what I want.”

_Good._ The admission relieved Satine.  _It's very difficult to be happy when you don't know what you want._ “Where did those ruminations lead?”  
“I'm not sure I want sex in the classic term of giving and receiving. I'm glad we did, it helped me confirm something I wasn't ready to put into words before. But I  _do_ like pleasuring you. I like watching your face.” Again, that slight blush against his living cheek, though he spoke with quiet confidence. “I like having you hold me, and touch me, I'm just not thrilled about my genitals being handled. Or involved much.”

Satine smiled up into his concerned face. “First of all,” she murmured, dropping a light press of her lips against his nose, “I am very proud of you for telling me what you need. Second?” Satine placed her hands against his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “When I chose you, Obi-Wan Kenobi, I firmly believed I would never have sex of any sort with you. Ever. I would like to point out I have lived twenty happy years loving you.”

His lips parted and his eyes winced in that way that would have been the prelude of tears, back when he used to be able to cry. Now they were just there alone, without the brine.

“I love you. I love every part of you. All of the metal ones, all of the living ones. I want you to feel comfortable with me, and to lose your shame of sharing your living flesh with cybernetic limbs. But that ease and confidence do not automatically mean you  _are definitely_ going to want sex in the traditional sense of both partners orgasming, or that you  _should._ If you want to touch me, to send me over that edge, I will enjoy it, and love you in whatever way you treasure most in return.”

“You're not even going to ask why?” he asked, voice choked, but he  _smiled,_ and it was a beautiful blend of real and silver teeth.

Satine wrapped her arms around his neck. “Will it make you feel better to tell me why?”

“No,” he admitted, after a long moment. “Though I had excuses lined up, just in case.”

“Is that what you were working on all day?”

“I was working on finding the nerve to admit I don't want my dick touched even though I enjoyed what we did earlier.”

Satine chuckled. “Am I so terrifying to speak to?”  
“You are frightening, like a goddess of death on a battlefield,” Obi-Wan swore, with that adoring,  _knowing_ expression on his face.

Satine arched an eyebrow at him. “Flattery?”

“Hmm. To your taste?”

“Very much so,” she cooed, kissing his chin for the fun of it.

“I did have one more thing to say before we get completely derailed with cuddling,” Obi-Wan admitted, the carefree expression fading a bit. “I might be interested in being penetrated again sometime.”

“Even though you didn't orgasm from it?”

“I like the sensation of arousal,” Obi-Wan murmured. “Less keen on the rest of it.”

Satine smiled. “I can work with that.”

“Hm. I might even be interested in some of those toys you have, stretching me open.”

“Oh?” Satine felt  _quite_ interested.

“Mm-hmm. And I'd certainly be interested in learning how to please  _you_ with those toys as well.”

“And you wondered if I could be content without your cock penetrating me,” Satine chuckled. “You and I are going to be just fine.”

“But not tonight,” Obi-Wan whispered. “Tonight, I want to try singing. And then I want to hold you and cry if I can't, and hold you and sleep if I can.”

Tears started to Satine's own eyes. All she could manage was a nod, remembering his beautiful voice, the sheer joy he used to take in singing.

_Please. Please, Force of my Obi, let him have this._

_Let him have this._

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note that probably belonged with the last chapter: This particular Obi-Wan is kinky. And not just because he doesn't care for the thought of penetrating but rather prefers to be penetrated instead. (Because, to be honest, it took me a minute to remember that might be considered kinky.)
> 
> I didn't find a way to actually share the information within the story itself (I'm working on the ending now), but Obi-Wan's preference for arousal and a slow letdown rather than arousal followed by orgasm? That's kinky as hell. It's also an Obi-Wan thing, not a he's-not-overly-fond-of-his-metal-equipment thing. Though he's not very fond of his new situation too. Just not cause and effect.
> 
> It's rather rare that I write allosexual Obi-Wan with a specifically sexual kink, so I just wanted to make sure people knew that's what it was, instead of trauma.
> 
> But moving on to the next chapter...
> 
> Moulin Rouge, anyone?

 

Satine awoke to quiet song, the voice not quite the beautiful strength she remembered, but not entirely overshadowed by the slightly metallic ring of a restructured throat and vocal cords.

She opened her eyes to find Obi-Wan braced on an elbow and leaning over her,  _smiling_ as he sang. It had her smiling back, though not fully awake yet. He had always smiled while he sang, as if creating something beautiful brought him joy.

He paused at the chorus, simply watching her. “What are you thinking?” he whispered, gazing into her eyes, trying to read them.

“Mm. That my dress choices become clothing fashion, and that your voice could easily be Mandalore's next big music trend.”

He looked surprised. “What?”

“Slight metallic edge in classic style, singing ballads or love songs? The music itself unaltered, but the voice behind it modified?” Satine smirked and tapped his nose with her finger. “The style would be new, based off royal life, and both warrior and beautiful.”

“With Mandalorian pipes and whistles,” Obi-Wan chuckled. “The rest of the galaxy would keen in horror.”

Satine scoffed. “The rest of the galaxy's quite frankly ridiculous.”

“On that I can agree.” He pressed his forehead to hers with almost a purr. “Know what day it is?”

She closed her eyes and smiled. “Your big day. Let's make some children happy.”

“One of the most precious things in the world to do,” he agreed, sounding happy himself.

_A man who can sing and dance without shame, a man who values the weakest members of our society? Is there ever a universe in which I would_ not  _fall in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi?_

 

* * *

 

“Can you help me with this, please?”  
Obi-Wan looked down to find a thin boy staring up at him, holding out something made of flimsi. The former Jedi crouched down to his level, holding out his hands. “What's your name?”

“Aleric.”

“And how old are you, Aleric?”

“Seven Standard,” was the prompt reply.

“It's a good age. How can I help?”

A serious nod, and then the child's left hand pointed to the creation Obi-Wan now held. “I made a banner for the Duchess, but it's stuck. I didn't want to rip it.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan looked closer, saw how some of the fastener that strung the pieces of flimsi together had grabbed the wrong papers when it was folded for transportation. “Yes. We don't want to tear it.”  _Hmm._

Obi-Wan switched to kneel just in case his balance did something unreasonable again, then set the banner on the floor and peeled off one of his gloves so he could have a better chance of prying the papers apart without damaging them.

A small gasp escaped Aleric, and when Obi-Wan glanced up at him, he saw the boy looked stunned.

“Can you help me take off my coat?” was the unexpected request.

Obi-Wan blinked. “Alright.” He complied, and that's when he realized one sleeve was empty.  _Oh._

No longer hidden under clothing, Obi-Wan saw Aleric's right arm in a sling. When the child pulled back a corner of the sling, he revealed a curled hand and too-thin arm.

“They can't fix it. I had my tenth surgery last year.”

_Ten?! Dear Force._

Aleric looked worried. “They said the only way to have it work, is to replace it with a metal one. But I don't know.”

“Does it hurt?” Obi-Wan managed to ask through a very tight throat.

Aleric gave a grave nod, letting out a small sigh. “But it always has. It's not too bad. I can handle it.”

_You shouldn't have to. Oh, Aleric._

“You have a metal hand,” Aleric pointed with the arm that  _did_ work. “Is it your whole arm?”

Obi-Wan found his self-consciousness gone. He rolled his sleeve up to his shoulder, turning so Aleric could have a close look.

“Can I touch it?” asked the unsure voice.

Obi-Wan gave a nod.

Small fingers reached out to inspect the limb. “It's cold,” was the first observation. “Does it feel cold to you?”

“No.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes my mind doesn't remember it's not the other one. The one that was damaged,” Obi-Wan offered.

“Phantom pain. The doctors said it might happen. That's one thing that scares me. Why  _do_ it if it's  _still_ going to hurt?”

Obi-Wan managed a small, sorry smile. “Are there things you'd like to do that you can't with only one hand?”

“Most things I can manage. It's always been this way. I'm not helpless.”

“I certainly believe that. And it's your decision.”  _As long as you don't have an Anakin._ “But if you close a door because of fear before you've really looked through it to see what might be on the other side...”

“I might miss out?”

“We'll just say it's best to consider all options.”

Aleric gave a nod as Obi-Wan slid what passed for a fingernail between the papers, carefully loosening them until the whole thing unfolded.

Relief spilled across Aleric's face. “ _Thank_ you.”

“You're very welcome. Let's go take this to the Duchess.”

Aleric looked shocked. “Can we?”

“I happen to know her, and yes, we can.”

A grin spilled across a small face. Together they wound their way through the crowds to where Obi-Wan could see Satine standing, watching the happy chaos.

As they reached her, Obi-Wan offered a sweeping bow. “Your highness, this is Aleric. He made something for you.”

The child beamed, seized one end of the banner, and stretched it out while Obi-Wan held the other end.

It was covered in carefully drawn battle scenes, Satine's signature armor clear in the colors.

“That's me,” Satine pointed out, and Aleric grinned. “It's very beautiful, thank you.”

Aleric gave her a happy nod, a deep bow, and darted off.

Satine looked so  _pleased_ at the little one's own joy that Obi-Wan felt a rush of affection swamp him. He gathered the banner carefully into one hand, then stepped forward, drew Satine close with the other arm, and kissed her soundly.

He couldn't stay there long, needing to oversee things as they occurred, but he felt  _good._ So good, that he forgot to roll down his sleeve.

And since no one looked twice at it, there was nothing to remind him.  
“Kenobi!”

Obi-Wan turned, found a reporter and her cameraman pushing through the crowd. He froze, blood running cold.

He could run, but then he would have to hide for the rest of the celebration, and  _no._ He  _didn't_ want that. His first instinct was to roll down his sleeve, but with the cam already focused on him, that would simply be an admission of discomfort.

_And the admission would be noticeable. More so than a metal arm._

Obi-Wan reached inside himself for his public relations mask, and met them with the smile that usually got him what he needed.

“This is a lovely gathering. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes.”  _You've done this a thousand times. Just once more. Deflect, deflect, smile, leave the audience thinking about your body instead of your words._

No, was that— was that a viable option now, with  _this_ body? Did he  _want that_ or perhaps he should change tactics, since this body wasn't one he could be proud of—

_She's not evil. Just breathe._

“I hear this gathering was your idea,” the woman prompted.

Obi-Wan demurred, “A lot of very dedicated people have put in a lot of time and effort to make this celebration possible.”  _Losing your touch, Kenobi. “A lot” twice in one sentence?_

“One of those dedicated people is certainly the Duchess,” the reporter agreed. “It is well known you danced almost every set with her at the ball the other evening. Just what is your relationship with our beautiful ruler?”

Oh.

A secretive smile touched his lips, as he felt the situation edging back into his control again. “That's a question you'll have to ask her,” he offered.

“Yes... but, that  _smile—_ ?”

“What smile?” he asked innocently. And this part, he  _did love._ He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed not giving them what they wanted. Spinning them into a tizzy of speculation.

“Have your injuries kept you from being more involved in the process of preparing for today's festivities?”

He knew his smile faltered. “No.” He struggled to keep his tone polite. “Perhaps you would like to interview some of the children before you go?”

“Just one more question before we leave you to your business. Are you still part of the Republic military?”

“No.” Obi-Wan glanced away, a clear signal he was  _done,_ but the woman didn't respect it.  _Kark. Why couldn't I have gotten one of the decent ones?_

“So you are no longer a General. What is the correct term of address for a no-longer Jedi Master?”

“No comment. Enjoy the party,” Obi-Wan somehow managed while  _pointedly_ walking away from them.

But they  _pursued_ him, her voice asking, “You seem very intimate with the Duchess,” while a holo of them kissing in the hallway was shoved in front of him.

_But you missed the actually public display of a few minutes ago? Not very good at this, are you?_ he inwardly sneered and kept walking.

“The prevailing theory is that the Order expelled you for your injuries, but it seems more likely you were thrown out for something  _actually_ against the Order's Code.”

He was shaking. He could feel it in his hands.

He hoped the cam wouldn't notice. Feared it would.

“Do you harass all veterans this way?” he asked, voice terse.

“It's just a question, Mister Kenobi. Unless we're supposed to call you something else.”

“I do not wish to be questioned,” Obi-Wan grit out.

The woman's eyebrows shot up. “Don't you think the public has a right to know the real story behind the man who is having an affair with their Duchess?”

“The story is I gave my limbs to defend your planet. You'll forgive me if I refuse to give my privacy as well. Try not to make any children cry on your way out.”

And then he employed his  _best_ evasive maneuvers to lose them.

In an alcove just a hallway over from the festivities, Obi-Wan leaned against the wall and dragged in a ragged breath.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, and he froze, holding his breath to try to keep from being spotted.

“I think he went this way—”

“ _Hey,_ ” bellowed a voice.

Now Obi-Wan  _really_ couldn't breathe.

“What the  _hell_ do you think you're doing?” snarled Anakin, storming in their direction.

“Knight Skywalker!” She rattled off the title of their merry little band, and then promptly asked, “How has your relationship with former Jedi Kenobi been harmed because of his affair with Duchess Kryze? When did you find out your lover was cheating on you?”

Obi-Wan nearly choked. Lovers? He and  _Anakin_ ?

“Give me the footage,” Anakin said, his voice low.

“Sure, we'll show you, after you answer a few questions. Were you the one who turned former Jedi Kenobi in to the Council for an illicit relationship with someone outside the Order?”

“You don't understand,” Anakin replied, a silky grace menacing his voice, which had gone eerily calm. “Hand over what you just recorded of Obi-Wan, or I will take it.”

The woman laughed. “Jedi are not allowed to threaten civilians, and I have intellectual ownership of said propert—”

A crunching noise was heard, along with cries of dismay and  _fury_ from the two vultures. 

“You can't just—”

“Thank you for cooperating,” Anakin replied, still sounding dangerous. “I'll be taking this with me. I'm glad you enjoyed the party, since visiting hours are over now.”

“You will  _not_ get away with this!” sputtered the woman. “You can't just destroy other people's equipment!”

“I'm going to tell you what my master was far too polite to tell you: Get. The frip.  _Out_ . And before you try to publish a written version of your  _'interview'_ with Obi-Wan, you'll remember you told me your names and where to find you.”

Hurried footsteps receded.

For a long moment there was silence, and then a heavy sigh. Something clicked as it fell to the floor, and then  _crunched_ under a boot heel.

“And he's gonna hate me for interfering,” Anakin murmured. “But I just  _can't._ ”

_He doesn't realize I'm here._

Obi-Wan hesitated. He could leave it that way. Wait until Anakin left, then sneak back to the party. Hide behind Satine until he'd recovered enough to fake composure.

Instead, he found himself leaving the safety of his hiding place, stepping into the hallway.

Anakin looked up in startled alarm, but didn't say a word.

Obi-Wan looked down at crushed pieces of the recording. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Shock spilled across his former Padawan's face. “They had no right to do that to you. It was  _wrong._ ”

“I thought I was prepared for the cameras. I wasn't,” Obi-Wan found himself admitting.  _No, why am I talking?_

Concern flitted into Anakin's eyes. “No, Obi-Wan. You did amazing. You managed to insult them without even swearing. That bit about making kids cry was priceless.” A tiny smile touched Anakin's lips.

Obi-Wan winced a smile of his own. “I did say that, didn't I.” But he was still shaking, and he wasn't sure he wouldn't cry, and he hated feeling so out of control over his response to something he might face routinely if he wanted to continue his courtship of the woman he loved.

His shoulders hitched, a dry sob ripping through him, something that physically  _hurt._ It brought a frip-ton of embarrassment with it. He turned to escape when Anakin's voice stayed him.

“Please don't go yet. I need to say something.”

Obi-Wan paused but didn't turn around, shoulders hunched in on himself.

“I'm sorry. I took away your choice.” Anakin's voice, though grieved, remained steady. “When you were unable to speak for yourself, I was in the position to have to make a decision for you. And instead of choosing based off what I knew of you, and what I thought you would want, I chose what I wanted for you instead. I made a choice to change the direction of your life without regard to the way you see death and life. I just needed to tell you that I see it, now. I refused to see it before. I wronged you, Obi-Wan. And I'm sorry.” His voice failed at the end, with a swallow that sounded like it hurt. “I'm sorry you have to live with the damage I inflicted. I wanted you alive. I didn't stop to think about whether you wanted to be or not.”

A shaky breath escaped Obi-Wan and he hung his head. “I'm grateful to be alive. I wasn't at first. But there are things now I  _want to see_ , and life is required for that. And there have been moments where I— where it felt  _so good_ to be alive.” Obi-Wan hid his face in his hand, letting his eyes close.

It felt humiliating to admit.

“That doesn't make what I did any less wrong,” Anakin whispered.

“Maybe it doesn't. But it makes hating you  _hurt._ Because  _you_ are the reason I can have a life with Satine. And I can't— I can't resent that, as much as I've tried.”

Anakin's reply sounded almost like a muffled sob. “Master?”

“I  _miss_ y _—_ ” 

A screen near the ceiling flickered on, a man with a jagged scar across his face looking to the side. “They seeing it now? Good.” He turned to the cam filming him. “Greetings, Sundari. Is everyone having a nice Unification Day? A rather ridiculous definition of unification, isn't it? Most of the clans in one happy bed with mediocrity, and two dissatisfied clans of the  _loyal children of Mandalore_ outside in the cold?”

Obi-Wan found himself frozen stiff. He  _knew_ that voice. That face. And the scar was of a saber blade—  _Anakin's,_ probably, from when he was rescued—

A hand gripped his shoulder, and Obi-Wan glanced up at his former Padawan, saw Anakin's face had gone sheet white, and he looked scared.

_It's not your celebration he's interrupting—_

And then Obi-Wan saw the beads wrapped around the man's hand, bloodied and two of them cracked.

And then it wasn't fear of the past that had Obi-Wan in terror.

The future looked worse.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are- the final chapter.

 

“We weren't  _done,_ Kenobi. We have something that belongs to you. It'll start to match you pretty soon. You know where we are. If you bring an army, we'll just kill her outright and be done with it. But hey— she might prefer that.”

The screen went black again.

Obi-Wan was running.

Anakin stumbled after him, shaking, his knees threatening to dump him to the floor.

_No. No, no, no, please—_

A quiet had fallen over the gathering hall, the children confused by the vague threat that had suddenly flooded the city, but sensing something was terribly wrong.

They parted out of Obi-Wan's way, silent and sober as he raced for their Duchess.

_Hang in there, Ahsoka. We're coming._

 

* * *

 

Both Satine and Anakin wanted to leave him behind.

Leave him  _behind._

Obi-Wan couldn't hide his shaking, couldn't manage to keep his expression steady, but he  _did_ manage to choke out, “She's  _my Padawan_ too.”

“If you freeze up out there, it could get her killed,” Satine warned, the warrior in her unwilling to baby him for  _this._

He lifted his jaw, stared her in the eye and gave a nod.

“Then let's go.”

They piled into the fastest speeder, Anakin in the driver's seat, Aramis in the empty seat, and  _raced._

Obi-Wan checked his blaster, hating the fear in his heart.  _Please, Force, not Ahsoka._

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan was not alright.

As they piled out of the speeder at the  _wretched_ farm house, Satine felt the scowl on her face.

She hated going into a delicate situation with a member of her squad less than at his best.

Ahsoka lay on the ground, clearly unconscious. Given the fact Anakin still looked afraid and tense, Satine felt it safe to assume she wasn't dead yet.

Obi-Wan stood by Satine's side, blaster lowered but tight in his hand.

The area appeared deserted.

Satine didn't trust it for a second. “Obi-Wan. Secure Ahsoka. Aramis, cover them. Skywalker, you're our guard against traps. Don't miss one.”  _This time._

She received nods in reply as they slowly approached the prone Padawan.

Obi-Wan crouched down beside Ahsoka, searching her for injuries. A few small defensive wounds, nothing severe; no sign of a head injury, so she was likely unconscious from a stun blast, not from being struck—

Satine and Anakin sped for the farmhouse, ready for anything. Aramis stood between Obi-Wan and the speeder, keeping an eye on both.

The cyborg gathered his Padawan up in his arms, braced his leg to stand—

“ _Trap!_ ” Anakin bellered from ahead.

Obi-Wan felt absolute terror flood his system. He couldn't sense the danger himself, couldn't guess from which quarter it might come—

Explosions ripped through the air and the ground fell out from under him.

He clung tight to the unconscious form, ensuring his arm and leg caught the brunt of the fall as they hit the floor.

Feedback raged through his metal limbs— limbs that had they been bone, would have shattered under the impact.

Instead, Obi-Wan pulled himself to his feet, blaster ready, and caught the first attacker who approached through the murky tunnel with a blast right between the eyes. Then another.

A sound from behind—

He spun around, lashed out with the side of his metal fist catching the man in the temple.

A blaster bolt clipped his elbow—

A vicious smile curled his lip.  _This_ limb didn't bleed. Didn't give out from pain.

A bolt took out the Mando's brain.

And then Anakin was beside him, gathering Ahsoka and leaping out, and Satine had her back to Obi-Wan's, killing with a quiet, furious efficiency.

Obi-Wan's heart zipped into his throat when he felt his feet leave the floor, but he focused and managed to keep shooting enemies as Anakin Force-lifted them out of the pit. Satine followed with her jetpack, and then the three bolted for the speeder.

Obi-Wan didn't dare relax until they had passed through Sundari's protective wall and made it to the palace's private speeder garage.

Anakin rushed Ahsoka to the medics, Aramis going with to open the doors for him.

Obi-Wan leaped out of the speeder to follow, then found his legs giving way and dropping him to his knees. He couldn't quite  _breathe._

Satine crouched beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

“They would have gotten her, and me. We'd be dead right now, if I weren't made of metal.” The memory of the cruel landing after the explosion, of Ahsoka's completely helpless state, of the  _murder_ in Mando eyes—

Satine gently prodded his damaged elbow. “This will need some tending to.”

“Satine—”

Her fingers paused. “Did you see him? The one who was in charge, who sliced Sundari's feeds?”

He was trembling, and it wouldn't stop.  _The one who led them in taking me apart?_

“Yes.”

That face, moving from the smoke and dust—

“He was the first one in. I blew his brains out.” Just barely in time. If Obi-Wan had recovered just a moment later, instead of when he had...

Satine's eyebrow arched in pleased reaction. “Well.”

“I can't stand up.”

“Give it a minute,” Satine encouraged. “You did very well, so pamper your body a little through the reaction.”

Obi-Wan managed a nod and simply focused on his ragged breaths.

_Ahsoka's alive. She's going to be alright._

_Most of the men who came after us are gone._

His shoulders shuddered, his stomach heaved—

He vomited, then wept tearless, painful sobs as Satine rubbed his back and soothed him, because oh  _Force,_ they nearly had him again.

They nearly had him.

 

* * *

 

It was almost too much, standing by Anakin's side before Ahsoka's sickbed.

It felt right in a way Obi-Wan had missed as much as his limbs—

But it also hurt. Horrifically.

If he hadn't felt the driving  _need_ to be here when Ahsoka woke up, he'd have bolted, long ago.

As it was, he stood still and waited.

Anakin kept eyeing his damaged elbow where it could be seen through the short sleeve of Obi-Wan's shirt.

_Probably thinking up a dozen ways to fix it._

And that returned just a little nausea to Obi-Wan's mix of misery.

“You saved her,” Anakin murmured.

Obi-Wan hadn't expected him to actually speak, after going so long in silence. He almost jumped, then felt his pulse pound in his throat. “I would have died if I'd been down there just moments longer without backup. Satine and you were the backup.”

“No,” Anakin dismissed. “I mean,  _yes._ But if I'd stayed with Ahsoka and fallen through that hole...”

_Shattered hip, thigh, shoulder, arm—_

Even with Anakin's will, he wouldn't have turned fast enough for that first wave of attack through the tunnels.

“It had to be you, in that moment, or everything would have been lost. And you had to fight, not freeze up with the suddenness of the explosion, or from who was  _there_ ... it just. It reminded me how competent you are.”

Obi-Wan sent him a bewildered look, trying to read in his face what in hell's name was going on. He didn't find an answer.

“If it had been me, I would have been too injured to fight, even if I'd been willing to power through the pain, and we would have died.”

“You don't— you don't calculate like that,” Obi-Wan managed to stammer out. “You always assume victory.”

Anakin's gaze shifted down to his hands. “There's some things you just can't fix. Someone told me that once. I didn't want to believe it. I've seen... I've had to face my own mortality, I guess. And fallibility.”

Obi-Wan had no idea what to say.

“All I know is, it had to be you, and you had to do the right things at the right time and hold on long enough. And because you  _did,_ my Padawan is still alive.” Anakin's voice choked up. “And I'm so  _grateful._ ” Tears slipped down his cheeks, and he made no effort to hide them.

Obi-Wan stared at him, not entirely sure he knew who this person was.

After a few moments he averted his eyes from shame, because Anakin wasn't looking away, for once wasn't insistent on appearing all-powerful, and Obi-Wan wasn't sure he could handle that glimpse of humanity within.

_Because no matter how much you loved him, or how much he believed in himself, he is just a man._

And men made mistakes. Men couldn't see the future. Men could do the right things for terrible reasons, or terrible things for reasons that appeared right to them at the time. And above all, men usually weren't just  _one_ thing. They were made up of a million tiny choices, and—

_I'm never entirely sure of the path either._

And mistakes? Or choosing what you knew to be wrong because you felt you  _needed_ it, in spite of everything your brain told you?

_I've done that._

And while Obi-Wan might claim he'd never chosen selfishly and had another person suffer permanently as a result...

_I don't actually know that._

He'd made several choices on Melida/Daan he'd never actually seen the results from.

He realized his hand was shaking, but he didn't try to hide it.

If Anakin wasn't hiding his own frailty, maybe Obi-Wan didn't have to try to appear alright.

_I'm not._

The medic hadn't wanted too many people present, had wanted only  _one,_ actually.

Obi-Wan had point-blank refused to be kicked out, however, so the grumpy professional had let him remain.

It meant Satine was currently out of reach.

Just hours after their return, Obi-Wan wasn't ready to pronounce himself clear of the letdown chemicals from terror and battle. His beautiful warrior would help him work through the rest, but for now—

Ahsoka stirred.

Obi-Wan took a half-step forward, heart surging up—

Blue eyes blinked open, peered up at them, a bit dazed.

“Snips?” Anakin whispered, voice rasping.

Ahsoka let out a shaky sigh. “Masters?”

“Hey. You're safe now,” Anakin assured her, his tears stopped and their traces as concealed as he could make them. “The doctors said you'd been drugged, but you were unhurt except for a few bruises. What happened?”  
“One minute I was looking for Korkie, and the next... everything went fuzzy and I think I fell over. These Mandalorians are something else, Obi-Wan.”

A smile tugged at Obi-Wan's lips before he realized it would.

“Quite a lot of them are dead, so you helped us get the guys who hurt Obi-Wan,” Anakin said with attempted levity. It didn't sound like he bought into it very deeply, though.

Ahsoka's browmarking arched. “Well. That was worth doing, then.”

“Just try not to do it again,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Ahsoka sat up, one living and three metal hands reaching to offer assistance should she need it.

“Hey,” Ahsoka frowned, staring at Obi-Wan's arm. “You're hurt.”  
Obi-Wan peered down at the melted gears that were making the movement of the arm a bit stiff. “Doesn't hurt.”

“You'll let Anakin work on it, though—?” Ahsoka prompted.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, paused, glanced at her—

But her eyelids were drifting closed again already, her system needing to sleep off the rest of the sedative she'd been injected with.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan whispered, pulse thundering in his ears again.  _Oh, what am I doing?_

But the shocked, almost-hopeful, still-unsure eagerness in Anakin's eyes when Obi-Wan glanced at him made the fear almost worth it.

Anakin stuffed pillows behind Ahsoka so she wouldn't fall back and eased her into them.

Obi-Wan hovered for a moment, then moved to his tip-toes to lean over the railing on the bed to press a ginger kiss to the top of Ahsoka's head, between her montrals. “Sleep well,” he whispered.

They stepped outside, Anakin closing the door softly.

“How is she?” Satine asked from where she sat on a bench, waiting.

“Sleeping,” Anakin replied with a small nod. He glanced to Obi-Wan, suddenly looking much younger and braced for disappointment. “You were comforting her, in there. You didn't actually mean—”

Obi-Wan held is arm up, offering the elbow to Anakin. He couldn't quite meet his eyes, and his voice was nearly inaudible when he spoke despite the effort it required to speak at all: “Can you fix it?”

The fingers that touched his arm felt nearly reverent.

Anakin didn't reply, instead he moved Obi-Wan to sit and then proceeded to empty his pockets on the floor.

Satine watched in growing amusement, Obi-Wan with... potentially fond memory. He didn't know yet. The stuff Anakin would forget in his pockets used to kill laundering machines. Almost started a war, once, where those laundering machines were few and far between. It had taken Obi-Wan's most delicate negotiating skills to straighten out that mess, and they  _still_ ended up banished forever...

Anakin rested Obi-Wan's hand on his shoulder to hold the elbow where it needed to be and proceeded to fiddle with it using a screwdriver and a handful of pieces he'd picked out of the chaos on the floor.

Obi-Wan's gaze shifted to Satine's for something,  _anything._ He felt so unmoored—

She gave him a smile and an arched eyebrow.

_Signaling safe and asking if I'm okay or if I want to stop._

Did he? He could bow out now, have Satine locate some unknown professional to do this—

Obi-Wan risked a glance at Anakin's face, then realized he could stare at him and the other wouldn't notice. His former Padawan had that furrow between his brows and concentrated look that spoke of absolute engrossment.

_Anakin is my kind of medic now._

The thought before had been bitter.

_But the truth of that saved Ahsoka today._

He looked back to Satine.

_One era is over, an era I loved and would have been content to remain in forever._

_But the new era isn't the end of my world._

To live by Satine's side, to invest his efforts into a single people, a single world, to bring healing to a place long torn apart...

And Anakin...

The terror and anguish the man had experienced when his Padawan was in the hands of those butchers had hurt Obi-Wan. He'd wanted to ease Anakin's pain. He'd found no satisfaction in Anakin's suffering.

_I've already forgiven you, haven't I. And I hadn't even noticed._

It might take time to find a new rhythm, one more apart than they'd ever been before, and it might not be comfortable for a good long while.

_But somewhere in there, when I wasn't looking, my heart forgave you. I don't need to cling to that bitterness._

_Terrible things have been done to me, but I have found good in spite of the twisted or selfish intents._

He could have died when the first era of his life passed away.

_Instead, I'm living a second life._

Most people only got one.

Anakin turned Obi-Wan's arm to reach the inside of the elbow joint, slipping his fingers between metal bracings to nudge the inner workings.

A quiet smile lit Anakin's face as he pulled his fingers free and looked up. “There. Try that.”

Obi-Wan flexed and turned the joint, found it worked without catching.

He put his attention on it, because Anakin was watching his face, and that still wasn't entirely comfortable.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Anakin murmured. He stood, looking bashful, and moved to the door. “I'm gonna sit with Ahsoka for a bit.”

Obi-Wan managed a nod.

Anakin slid open the door, paused, looked back, something terribly vulnerable in his eyes. “Thank you for letting me,” he whispered and then he closed the door behind him.

“Mmm.” Satine scooted down the bench until her hip bumped Obi-Wan's. “Look who's desperate to win back your love.”

“He always had it,” Obi-Wan murmured back.

Satine ran her palm over the healed joint. “My beautiful lover.”

“My liege.” He leaned down to capture her lips with his own.

“Oh?” she asked, pulling free from his kiss after a moment. “You are content to serve, not to rule?”

“I have never desired to command people or armies. Just to know I'm making a difference, making my world  _better._ ”

Her winsome and predatory smile captivated him as she chuckled, “I am so very attracted to you in this moment.”

“ _Only_ this moment?”

“Oh, Force help me,” Satine sighed. “I am so very lost.”

Obi-Wan smiled and kissed her again.

 

* * *

 

**Five Years Later**

 

Anakin stared in wide-eyed amazement at the infant Obi-Wan held.

He nearly ran away when Obi-Wan placed the little one in his arms, but then Anakin found himself caught, staring down into the sleepy blue eyes.

_ You trust me to hold your daughter. _

It made his throat close and his heart ache.

He didn't know how this little creature had been possible, but he wasn't about to ask what the doctors had done to allow for it. The only thing that really mattered was the glow of adoration and love on Obi-Wan's face, and the exhaustedly slumbering Duchess in the room just over. The woman who had smiled at Anakin and Ahsoka, mumbled to Obi-Wan about, “Show them our baby,” and then fallen asleep again.

“This is Aayhan,” Obi-Wan introduced.

“Hi,” Anakin whispered. “Aayhan— means bittersweet, right?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It's a bit more. It's looking at all you've lost, and everything you still have, and accepting all the pain and joy of those two things at once. Not abandoning either for the other. Here, it's considered perfect happiness.”

The little one sighed.

Her fingers were so tiny...

With the war over, Padmé had mentioned she might want to try for a baby, and Anakin had thought he might want one, but still felt unnerved by it at the same time...

Especially since he had little doubt any child of his would be Force-powerful, while this precious little one had no Force sensitivity whatsoever.

“Is she Aayhan Kenobi, or...?” Anakin asked, glancing up.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Kryze is the more powerful clan.”

“Ooh. The Kenobis better get on that if they want their name to continue. Start conquesting planets.”

“Unnecessary. I am proud to be a consort and a kept man. The Kenobis are welcome to continue the long tradition of unknown mediocrity.”

“Excuse me,” Ahsoka interjected. “I think you have held her long enough. I must introduce myself.”

And from the look of things once she had her hands on the infant, Ahsoka was going to be very doting cousin.

_Sister?_ Anakin wondered. Ahsoka was _theirs_ , after all. Anakin met Obi-Wan's gaze over the cooing Ahsoka and found a smile there.

When the proud father took his baby back, he pressed a careful kiss to the tiny forehead and then cradled her close, as if she were the most precious thing in all the universe. He wore a padded shirt to keep the infant from feeling the unforgiving planes— or the cold— of his half-metal frame.

_ And to her, it makes no difference. She will grow up adoring her father. _

And the exhausted lioness, undoubtedly too.

_Yes. When I get back, I will tender my resignation to the Order._

Padmé deserved that.

It was scary to leave behind all you once knew...

_But I'm ready. It's the right thing to do._ No more lies. No more incongruency of life.

_Time to be who I am._

Satine appeared in the doorway, sleep-mussed and groggy.

Obi-Wan's expression melted at the sight of her, such a loving, trusting look. He nearly glowed with the force of his love for the two who owned his allegiance.

Ahsoka sent Anakin a smile that said she saw it too.

_And next time we come, Padmé will come with us._ Openly. Honestly.

Obi-Wan looked back at him and gave a soft smile.

 

* * *

 

He didn't know what his former Padawan was thinking, though he definitely  _was_ considering something. Very hard. The brow finally cleared as a decision was reached, and Obi-Wan saw a clearness and relief in those eyes.

Obi-Wan pressed another kiss to his little one's forehead before lowering Aayhan into Yoda's waiting arms.

Satine caught Obi-Wan's glance and gave him a nod of understanding, herding the rest of the family out of the room.

Yoda stared down into the tiny face, something like awe in his own eyes.

“Good to see my advice, your Duchess took,” Yoda murmured with humor.

Obi-Wan shook his head, still just a bit disbelieving.

His darling had told him just a couple years ago that Yoda had advised her to bed Obi-Wan.

“It's actually about that, that I needed to speak with you.”

Yoda peered up at him, eyes soft.

Obi-Wan knelt on the floor before him, the gesture familiar but long abandoned at the same time. “I want to thank you for pushing me out of the nest.”

“Oh?” Yoda's eyes widened. “Hated me for a while you did.”

Obi-Wan's eyes gentled with remembered pain. “It felt unspeakably cruel at the time.”

“Surprised I am, that asked me to come meet your daughter you did.”

“If you hadn't forced me out of the nest, today I would be hiding within the Temple's walls, struggling to hold together an approximation of what had always been. I would have been trying to keep breathing something that had already died within me. I would still be grieving. Miserable and broken.”

Yoda watched him, looking almost vulnerable.

Obi-Wan reached out, covered a green hand with his own metal one. “Instead, I am Satine's consort. I have a home that is  _mine,_ not a prison made out of the memories of a better time. I have a people, a  _place,_ and achievements I'm actually proud of. I live. I don't just exist, and I am more than what I lost. And chief of all—” Obi-Wan's throat constricted, and that familiar burn in his eye resulted in a shaky smile. “I have a beautiful baby girl.” His voice failed. “So  _thank you_ for obeying the Force's lead when your heart must have screamed at you to disobey.”

A tear slipped from Yoda's eye, sliding down his cheek to fall onto Aayhan's soft clothing. “Proud of you, I am,” Yoda whispered. “Beautiful you are. Beautiful you have always been. Proud Qui-Gon would be.”

If he'd been capable, gentle tears would have been falling from Obi-Wan's eyes.

He knew Qui-Gon  _was_ proud.

_I have been given so much._

He pressed an aching kiss to Aayhan's tiny, perfect fingers.

_So very much._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a Guide:  
> [Soothing Vocabulary 101]
> 
> Jetii (Pronounced /JAY-tee/) = Jedi. And trust me, it's usually considered an insult.
> 
> Beskar (Pronounced /bez-car/) = Iron mined on Concordia, moon of Mandalore, used to make Mandalorian armor
> 
> Udesi (Pronounced /oo-DAY-see/) = Easy/Take it easy
> 
> Buy'ce (Pronounced /BOO-chay/) = Helmet. And yes. I have trouble keeping a straight face when I say it out loud too. Blame Karen Traviss.
> 
> Beskar'gam (Pronounced /bez-car-gam/) = Mandalorian armor. Beskar = iron, gam = skin. Mandalorians love squishing two existing words together to convey a new idea. You create your armor with your family, and its colors, texture, and shape are expressions of your soul. The Mandalorians believe you cannot choose your skin. How you are born appearing is something handed to you, not a reflection of your inner person. You didn't choose it. They feel the armor is more intimate than bare flesh, because the armor is carefully designed to share your soul. By the time of the Clone Wars, Death Watch has devolved into cookie cutter soldiers that retain very little of the old ways. Vizsla talks big... but he doesn't live it.


End file.
